


Metanoia

by NoOneTwerksLikeGaston



Series: Harry Potter's Journey to Change [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A healthy amount of bashing, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, BAMF Harry Potter, F/M, Good Malfoy Family (Harry Potter), He's not evil, Kinda, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sadly, Severus Snape Redemption, Smart Harry, Time Travel Fix-It, he just likes to play god and I'm not impressed with him, not a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoOneTwerksLikeGaston/pseuds/NoOneTwerksLikeGaston
Summary: All is not what it seems. Years after Voldemort's resurrection, the Wizarding World is near its end, Dumbledore has fled; the dark creatures have turned their backs on wix and humankind and have hidden themselves; Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, stands on the edge of the end of humanity. He has only one choice now.Go back to the start and change everything.He goes back in time and warns his younger self. His last words to ten year old Harry Potter:"Albus Dumbledore is not to be trusted."
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy
Series: Harry Potter's Journey to Change [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169501
Comments: 193
Kudos: 637





	1. The Journey to Change

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually something I have a somewhat plan for, unlike my other story, and there are already other chapters typed and finished, so expect more updates on this than the The Chosen One's Guardian.

**Metanoia**

**Chapter One**

**The Journey To Change**

* * *

_Metanoia_

_met·a·noi·a /ˌmedəˈnoiə/_

_ (n.) The journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life. _

* * *

It was dark.

Harry couldn't see where he was, didn't really know where he was. It was just dark, black beyond anything he could ever see.

So he walked.

Miles and miles stretched on, seconds to minutes to hours, time seemingly not working at all in this dark, dark space. Still, he walked.

What seemed like days, which could have very well been minutes or years—there was no knowing—Harry found what he was looking for.

A small hunched figure, somewhere in the distance, head laying down on his arms, arms that were hugging knees to his chest, a figure in too-big castoffs that hid a skinny frame and knobby knees. Harry made his way over.

Harry stared at the boy, too small you wouldn't be able to tell he was 10, and thought of what he was to say. This was it, he thought. The moment that would change history or not at all.

_"I wouldn't really be sending you back," Hermione explained her plan. They were in her room, a room she stayed locked away in for hours on end when they weren't fighting in the battlefield. It used to be Hermione and Ron's but... it's been Hermione's room for so long since—_

_"There is no known spell or time-turner that can go beyond a few minutes, or hours at most, nothing that could send you back to even just a day," she explained, her tone exactly the way it's always been when he explained things to Harry, "but there is a way to send a message back in time."_

_"A message?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded and leaned forward, showing her brother in all but blood the book that gave her the idea in the first place. Harry leaned closer to look and—_

_Harry blinked. Once. Twice. Harry raised a brow, eyes moving to stare at his best friend. She blushed but kept her expression stern and serious._

_"Divination?" Nothing else was said; Harry's tone said it all. Hermione 'Divination is not a real subject and is nothing but a hoax' Granger. The world must truly be desperate._

_It was, so Harry didn't joke about it._

_Hermione huffs. "I know. But it said something about 'reaching beyond to people unseen' and something called scrying. And at first I scoffed at the notion, yes, but somehow, it wouldn't escape my mind so I researched more about the subject, see if there was something similar, if not that it was legible, which would have been something," Hermione grumbles under her breath, making Harry snort._

_She rolls her eyes but says nothing, instead choosing to continue explaining. "And then I found something, not the same but applying the same theory into practice. It wasn't a complete thought yet, though, nothing but a theory. So I researched a bit, used a bit of arithmetic, a little bit of astronomy and a little bit of runes and, well," Hermione trails off, grabbing a piece of parchment and showing the graph to Harry._

_"I think we can do," she says, "And tonight might be our only chance."_

Harry, a young man of 23, crouches and sits crisscrossed, the boy, 10 turning 11, right in front of him. Harry looks around and he can see a little dingy cot under the boy, with a ratty old blanket and not even a pillow. Harry's heart aches with conflicting emotions. He hates—hated—this dusty, cramped space, a place no child should ever be in for an extended period of time, and yet... Harry aches with want. The cupboard under the stairs might have been a horrid place for a child to sleep in, but it was safe. Vernon was too big to be able to reach him there.

"Hey there, little man." Not boy, never boy. Harry Potter never had a chance to be a boy, not since that night in Godric's Hallow.

A head with a nest of unkempt raven locks rises, revealing wide and bright green eyes, innocent eyes. Harry Potter, ten turning eleven, stares back at a man with the same shade of green eyes and the same mess of raven black hair. His head cocks to the side and Harry, 20, does the same, unconsciously.

He smiles, small but sad but real. "Hey there, Harry."

_And blimey if that doesn't feel weird._

"Are you...?" Little Harry asks but the older shakes his head.

"Nah—I'm you," he shrugs unceremoniously. Little Harry's eyes widens.

"A dream," he mumbles, staring at the ground, "It must be..." At this, the older Harry nods.

"It is," he agrees. Little Harry's head snaps up, confused. He smiles ruefully, a bit apologetic. He knows it's confusing, as is always with magic this complex.

Hermione had explained this to him. How she would send her consciousness through time, when he would be able to warn himself, to change time, history, stop the war before it even begun. He would be tethered to a time, any time, where his younger self would be. Harry chose to find the him before it all started.

"You're asleep, Harry, but so am I," older Harry explained, "I came to visit you, you see, talk to you a bit—warn you."

Little Harry's eyes widen even more. "Warn me?" He whispers fearfully.

Older Harry nods; no way to sugarcoat it. Harry never received a straight answer for his life, always having to find and solve mysteries and riddles and receiving half-answers from twinkly eyed, old men. Maybe things wouldn't have reached this point had someone just told it to him straight.

Harry would not do the same to himself, young as he may be.

"Something bad is going to happen, Harry, in the future. A war; a horrible, horrible war," little Harry's eyes couldn't be any wider, "But you can stop that, Harry, if you listen to what I say."

Older Harry was wrong—little Harry's eyes could grow wider.

"Me?" He all but squeaks, "But I'm just—"

"'Just Harry'," Older him cuts him off. "I know," he smiles sad and knowingly. Little Harry is reminded then, that this man, taller than him, older than him, strong yet still so skinny, is still him. No one in this time, this moment, knows him more than this man does, because they are the same, one person, in different times, but still one, whole person.

"But it doesn't matter," older him says then. He gazes at little Harry with sad, tired eyes.

"Your choices can change everything, whether you ever realize it or not—I sure as bloody hell didn't," he shakes his head ruefully.

"But what can I do?" Little Harry whispers, always so quiet, never one to be loud even in the comfort of his own mind, as if someone ( _Vernon_ , Harry's mind supplies) would hear. Harry's hand rises to touch little Harry's hair, right where it hides his scar. The younger winces in recognition but says nothing, does nothing, because young Harry can see the same scar reflected in front of him.

Young him would have flinched back then, a stranger trying to touch him... but he wasn't a stranger, was he? They were the same and one person. If there would be anyone who wouldn't hurt Harry, it would be himself.

Such a sad thought for a ten-year old but so very true.

"Be you."

The older him doesn't need to see his younger face to see the shock in his eyes—lots of surprises, it was to be expected. He sighs and begins to explain his story. He has until morning, when Aunt Petunia wakes and opens the cupboard door, when little Harry would start the day with his list of chores.

"There aren't really many things you should or shouldn't do, Harry. Some things are out of our control—but us? That has always been ours to control," Harry explains, eyes hard and expression serious. Little him could only nod numbly.

Older Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "I won't lie to you, Harry. Some will try to control you, and they will try, very hard, but if you stay true to yourself and remember my words, you'll be alright, everything will be alright."

Harry rakes his eyes over himself, young, small and so innocent, trusting the him that was older but still the same person as himself, and Harry decides he should explain some things first.

He tells younger him of magic, and of wizards and witches, and of half-giants and _yer a wizard, Harry_ , of hearty and bookish best friends and red-haired families, and of men turning into dogs and rats and werewolves, and little him eats it all up with awe and wonder and hope because Harry isn't a freak, he's a wizard and no one can tell him otherwise who and what he is—

Little Harry tears at that, he cries when he is told of his parents, he sobs when he is told that the Dursleys had lied and his parents loved him and they died for him because they loved him.

Older Harry feels a shift then, like a subtle and gentle wind, and he knows he has to hurry.

"Harry," he calls to the still crying boy, "Harry, I don't have much more, you must remember my words, Harry. You heed them, alright? You can't let anyone else's words influence you, control you, do you understand? I have to tell you what you have to do, okay, do you understand?"

Still teary eyed, younger him nods and stares at him, attention undivided. Harry nods, satisfied.

"Harry, you're going to receive a letter today, a very special letter," Harry states, a small smile pulling at his lips despite the chill of the growing stronger winds. "You are about to get your acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Little Harry's breath leaves him in a whoosh. Older him grins despite himself. He remembers the elation of having a letter addressed to him for the very first time, even after all this time.

"You're going to have to reply, Harry, send it with an owl," Harry sees the question on his face so he explains, "There'll be an owl waiting, I'm sure. Go to the backyard and look for it. Raise your hand with the letter and it'll take it to Hogwarts for you."

"W-what do I..." little Harry hesitates, uncertain. His older self nods, understanding.

" _'Dear deputy headmistress, I, Harry James Potter, accept a place at your school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ ' Next paragraph, _'My aunt has explained to me and shall take me to Diagon Alley to buy my school requirements._ ' Another paragraph is _'Thank you_.' And sign, _'Harry James Potter_ ' at the end." Little Harry nods; his eyes on the ground as he runs and memorizes the sentence in his head. With a final nod, little him gazes back at his older counterpart.

Harry continues.

"You go to London, to a pub named Leaky Cauldron in Charing Cross Road. When you arrive at Diagon, go to Gringotts, the bank. It’s white and huge, hard to miss. Aunt Petunia knows the way. I know you're afraid but you have to get her to take you. If she won't, and you think you can go on your own, then go. Be smart, Harry. We have always been smart; don't let anyone stop you from showing it, not anymore."

Harry takes his younger self's hands and it is accepted without a flinch.

Harry sighs. This would have been harder to say, a decade ago, before the war started, but he could easily say it now, after everything. There is a world outside of petty house rivalries and each characteristic that the houses favored are all good qualities. If the world would be safer if the Boy Who Lived wore silver and green, then let it protest and shout. There are worse things than words, like guns and bombs, war and death, and life, goddamnit.

"We're pretty smart, aren't we?" He asks and little Harry nods uncertainly. "I mean, we have to be, living with people like the Dursleys. At the very least," Harry smirks at him then, "We're the smartest in the house."

Little Harry snorts; quiet, shocked laughter escaping his throat. Older him chuckles with him, feeling something deep within him soothed by childish and innocent laughter. Gods, when was the last time he saw pure joy like this? The elderly and the young were of the highest death rates when the war reached its peak. It still was, even after years of war. But that would change now; Harry could feel it in his bones, in his magic and in his soul. Little Harry would change it all, save them all, and no one would know but him and the forces that be.

Harry inhales sharply, expression serious, "We're cunning, Harry, we have to be to survive in a place where we're unwanted, I had to be, to survive in a dangerous time. And now, now you're going to have to be cunning again, so that you don't come to that. Do you want to come to that? Do you want to become _me_?"

And little Harry looks at him then, pale and gaunt, skinny as he's always been but with a strength he's never had, Harry is sure underneath dirty, worn jeans is the same knobby knees as his. He wears dirty clothing, dirtier than he's ever been; clothes that still don't fit him but at least doesn't drown him like his. Messy hair, always messy hair, that looks like it hasn't seen the end of a showerhead in weeks and eerie green eyes, grim and dark and cold and tired, so, so tired. Harry can see scars, tiny and long tendrils that poke out of his clothes and Harry sees pain, so much pain that he's never seen before and his heart breaks a little because this man, a man he could become, has his already broken and shattered.

"No," Harry whispers and he is small and young but still so very alive, with hope and fire and a stubbornness that hasn't been defeated yet, and his older counterpart nods, satisfied, a little bit of light entering his eyes.

Little Harry feels it then, the wind that's been building and building since they began talking. _Change_. History was changing—or, in this case, erased.

He realizes this and he grabs on to the lapels of his older counterpart, frantic, panicked. Not yet, not yet, _he doesn't know what to do just quite yet_!

Harry holds his younger self, equally panicked but sure, ever so sure, that it'll be okay.

"Harry," he rushes, "Harry, I have no more time left. Remember this, if there is anything my life has taught me, my friends and family, _this war_ , is that things aren't always at it seems. Dark doesn't mean evil and we shouldn't jump into things we don't understand."

"I don- I don't get it!" His younger self yells, frustrated. Harry shakes his head.

"Snape. Trust Snape. He's a right old dour git, and he can be mean, but he's on your side, Harry. Even if it doesn't seem like it at times, he's on your side, if only because he was friends with our mother."

Harry's eyes widen, "He was?"

He nods, "Yes. And Sirius and Remus are friends of our fathers. They will stand by you, will always stand by you. The goblins, they're a neutral party, they won't lie to you. Trust in them, even when it's hard, but whatever you do, and I mean this, Harry," he grabs his younger counterpart's shoulders and stares at him gravely.

"Do not trust Albus Dumbledore."

And then Older Harry was gone.


	2. First, We Must Begin

**Metanoia**

**Chapter Two**

**First, We Must Begin**

* * *

Harry Potter wakes up that day like every other day, his cousin Dudley jumping on the stairs above the cupboard, the sound echoing and loud, dust is falling on Harry's hair and face.

Except... things are different now; Harry can feel it settling in his bones like the warm breeze of spring.

Aunt Petunia wrenches the door open, her mouth open wide to scream at her nephew to _wake up, lazy boy_! But it dies on her lips. Right in front of her, lying down on a ratty cot, with messy hair and thin framed circular glasses, is her nephew, awake and staring at her, with eerie, blazing green eyes. Harry stares at her, a calm sort of fury within, shown only with his eyes. He rises and moves to get out, his aunt numbly shuffling backwards. He moves to the kitchen, grabbing his to-do list from his aunt's numb fingers, and sets out to do them.

Harry decides then, that he wouldn't let his relatives bully him any more, not in his own house. It wasn't home; it would never be home to Harry. But he lives there too, for heaven's sake; he would not be bullied within his own house.

Not that he would be living with them for much longer, not if he could help it, he thought decidedly.

He fixes breakfast, Dudley whining at the back, and gives his uncle his coffee, before slinking back to a corner of the room. The Dursleys ignore him, his aunt back to her Dudley-doting self. Harry moves to go out the kitchen but his uncle catches sight of him then.

"Boy!" He bellows, "Where do you think you're going, then!?"

Harry keeps his head down, though he looks his uncle in the eye, "I'm getting the mail, sir." Uncle Vernon snorts, waving his hand in dismissal and goes back to his breakfast, father and son practically inhaling their plates. Harry hides a grimace at the sight as he turns.

When he gets the mail, his heart stutters at the sight of his letter, his Hogwarts letter! And Harry can't help the elation that bubbles at the pit of his stomach. He knew, he remembered what his older self had said, but until now, he didn't truly believe it was real.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

But with his letter in his hands, the reality of it all came crashing down on him like a tsunami of emotions. He clutches the letter to his heart, desperately holding back on tears that threaten to fall. Harry hasn't cried since he was 7, he wouldn't cry now, not with the Dursleys so close.

"Boy! What's taking you so long!? What are you lazing about with the mail for!?" His uncle bellows from the kitchen. Harry exhales then, his tears gone as soon as it came.

"Coming, uncle Vernon!" Harry replies, dropping his Hogwarts letter by his cupboard, using his foot to slide it under the door. His older self warned him that his relatives might try to take it from him. He wouldn't let them.

He places the mail on the counter, and sets about doing the dishes. He ignores the family of three behind him and diligently does his chores.

While he worked, he grabbed a piece of paper and dropped it by his cupboard, his actions as fluid as water. Anything else would cause attention on him that Harry just didn't need. Harry thinks about when he would write his reply to his letter when Dudley announces that he would be going over to Piers Polkiss' house, aunt Petunia chiming in about getting groceries while he's gone. Uncle Vernon, the 'loving, caring husband that he is,' states that he'll drive her. That only leaves...

"Boy!" _And cue entrance_.

"Yes, uncle Vernon?" Harry asks steadily, appearing by the entrance of the living room, near the kitchen and far from grabbing hands.

His uncle sneers, "Dudley, your aunt and I will be going out, boy; you'll be going to Mrs. Figg’s' house. You best not cause trouble with your freakishness while you're there, boy, or so help me..." Uncle Vernon states, his sentence ending in a low growl.

Harry bites down on the instinctive fear and answer. He keeps his head down but replies in a steady voice, "I'd rather stay here, uncle."

Vernon splutters, face going red at his nephew's words, so Harry quickly added, "I'm ten, uncle Vernon. I can be kept to the house on my own, most kids do at this age, if it's only for a short hour or two," his uncle pauses, but still hasn't lost that red tinge on his face, so Harry gives the finishing blow, "Kids stop being watched over so much at this age, it's perfectly normal, uncle Vernon."

Harry watches as his uncle's eyes widen slightly, head turning to his wife. Unsure but unwilling to do anything not normal, aunt Petunia acquiesced. Harry felt like leaping in joy when his uncle nods his head curtly, looking unpleased but relenting nonetheless.

"You best behave yourself, boy, and I better come back to a clean and whole house or it's your back on the streets, you hear me, freak?" Vernon threatens by the door as they leave, Petunia already in the car.

Harry only nods and watches his uncle shut the door, trying to keep his face passive and meek to mask any elation or excitement he feels. He's so close. He waits until he hears the car starts, waits until he can't hear the car anymore, and waits for a few minutes more, just to be sure. When the minutes pass and Harry can be sure his relatives wouldn't return for something they left, Harry makes a mad dash for his cupboard, wrenching the door open.

Panting, he stares at the floor of his cupboard, his letter and the piece of paper he slipped in still lying there, Harry's key to freedom. He doesn't even care if there rests so much on his shoulders if he accepts the letter, anywhere was better than Privet Drive.

Harry takes the letter and paper with shaking hands, absentmindedly closing the door with his hip. He moves over to the kitchen table and only stares at the letter for a moment.

When Harry snaps out of his daze, he grabs the paper and pen by the far side, deciding that it would be faster if he finished that first. He might just stare at his letter for hours if he read it now. He didn't have the time. _Later_.

He quickly pens out his reply and doing his best to keep it nice and pretty. His hand wouldn't stop shaking. When he's done, he folds it and heads out to the backyard.

When he catches sight of the owl, Harry almost breaks out in tears. He squeezes his eyes shut and raises his hand with the letter in the air. He hears the beat of wings and Harry opens his eyes to see the owl taking the letter and flying away. Harry stares at the owl fade away into the distance until he couldn't even see the dot of its existence.

When Harry goes back inside, he hunts for loose change in the house, inside drawers and wedged in couch cushions, to add to the few he saved up for years. Under his cot, in a tiny, tight plastic bag to prevent noise, was all of Harry's life savings.

It wasn't much but it was enough for a single train ride.

Making up his mind, Harry breaks the rules for the first time in his life. He makes himself some food. He makes sandwiches and gets two juice boxes and a water bottle from the fridge, a thrill going up his spine knowing that it would be a noticeable loss in the fridge but he'd be long gone when the Dursleys' notice. He goes up to Dudley's second room and scavenges for a bag Dudley no longer used. Harry could take one of his cousin's nice bags but Harry was no thief, even if his relatives would say differently.

He finds an old and slightly tattered blue backpack. He goes to the attic, seeing if he could score something there. He's never been to the attic before. His aunt never really let him; it made him curious.

The attic was dark and dusty, clearly left to itself for a few years now. Harry moves to check the boxes and old furniture. He finds several clothes from when uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia were young—apparently, uncle Vernon had always been big. He finds some other things not worth much, like fancy but old hairbrushes, hair accessories that are very out of date, and Dursley family photo albums.

It was then that Harry notices one particular box that was covered in a black cloth, hidden behind all the others and in a nook.

The way it was hidden so called out to Harry and he cleared a path to get the box. When he removed the box, his breath stutters out of him.

_James, Lily and little Harry Potter._

Harry opens the little cardboard box with shaking hands, heart pounding in his chest. Inside the box was a smaller, plain ornate box, a few pictures, baby clothes and notebooks.

Upon further inspection, Harry notices that the pictures were moving, they were, Harry was sure, of his parents or them with little him, along with some other people. Some of the notebooks—journals—belonged to his mother or father. The baby clothes were his, of course, it also had an old and small, light blue blanket under it. Harry had the fleeting thought that maybe he came to the Dursleys wrapped in this blanket.

When he opened the black box, he saw little jewelry within: two golden bands, a few bracelets and a few simple necklaces. One necklace was a circular pendant with the initials HJP on one side and J&L on the other. Another necklace had a pendant of deer antlers and another necklace was a locket that held a picture of baby him on one side and his parents on the other side. Harry considers it a miracle that his aunt had not sold the things.

For the third time today, Harry felt tears pool in his eyes, but this time finally let them fall. He sat there crying over the box of things that belonged to him and his parents, sobbing over the pain and love, over the sadness and the joy, of everything that was in his life.

After what felt like an eternity, Harry had no more tears left and was sniffling instead. He packed up the box and carried it down, intent on bringing it with him. Harry wiped at his eyes as he rubbed his eyes, feeling lighter than he has in many years.

He packed up his things on his bag, his food on top, water bottle strapped at the side. He hefted the old bag, heavy with precious belongings and necessities.

Harry Potter leaves 4 Privet Drive that day with no intention of ever returning.

When the Dursleys return that day, they find an old cardboard box that once held the Potters' belongings, and an empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two is up! The first step to change is simple: to begin.


	3. To Find The Faults

**Metanoia**

**Chapter Three**

**To Find The Faults**

* * *

_Mr H. Potter_

_The cupboard under the stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of_

_WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chief Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of_

_WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

  1. _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_
  2. _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_
  3. _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_
  4. _One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_



_Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

_by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic_

_by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory_

_by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_

_by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_

_by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions_

_by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_

_by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_

_by Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS_

_ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus_

_Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions_

Harry made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, rereading his letter every few times as he walked. It took him most of the day, going from the station to Charing Cross Road on foot. He used the last of his money to buy a map of London and was thankful that he brought food with him. He was already full with two sandwiches, used to eating small, and he still had one sandwich left. He already drank the juice on the train, as well as some water while he walked—his water was half empty now.

He came across Charing Cross Road and watched in fascination as a building came to light, the buildings beside it moving to make space. He noticed amazed as the others didn't even realize its existence, passing by as if it wasn't there

_Is this magic, too?_

He went inside the pub, playing with his fringe, lest he gets sighted—although he shouldn't really, no one would see as he had covered it up with a Band-Aid.

His future self said that a lot of people—everyone, really—knew his name and would be looking for him so he'd best hide in plain sight and cover his scar. And, really, Harry was good at hiding (Harry Hunting had its benefits, he supposes), he just still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that he was supposedly famous. He wondered about how he never saw a wizard or witch approach him before but he supposed that a wizard in the non-wizard world would be fairly hidden.

He approached the counter, an old but gentle-looking man behind it. Harry wondered if this man was the Tom his older counterpart mentioned. The man noticed Harry and he tried not to hide from the man's gaze. The man smiled as if sensing Harry's hesitance.

"Hello, there, lad. Where are your parents?" He asks gently, leaning on the counter to better hear the small child's answer.

Harry hid a wince and tried not to fidget. He quickly thought of a lie and carefully avoided the man's eyes—Older him warned him about eye contact.

"They're in Diagon Alley, sir, working. They told me to meet up with them there, and to get Tom the Barkeeper to open the way," he says, trying to make his voice sound like he's reciting the last part. The man's eyebrows rise to his hairline.

"On your own? My, what an independent young lad you must be, ey?" Harry panicked for a second before the older man's words processed in his mind. "Well, just your luck then, huh? My name's Tom and I am the owner of this here pub! Come on, then, little one."

Harry sighed in relief, following Tom as he led the way to the entrance to Diagon Alley. They came to stand in front of a tall wall and Harry watched the sequence he tapped on the wall intently. Harry really thanked whatever god granted him easy memorization skills. His jaw dropped as the wall disappeared like a waterfall within his very eyes, showing a crowded street of people.

Tom offered to escort him and Harry politely declined. He thanked the barkeep and made his way to Gringotts. Older Harry said it was big and white and slightly tilted. Harry could find that, sure enough, hopefully before night came.

Harry found it after a bit of walking and his breath caught. Gringotts was both magnificent and daunting, and Harry stared at the leaning building before squaring his shoulders and going up the steps.

There was a... goblin, in red and gold, guarding the entrance, who eyed Harry, and he blushed because he knew it was because of his clothes. Still, if there was one good thing that the Dursleys taught him, it was to be polite and respectful. So Harry bowed his head, surprising the goblin.

Harry rushed inside, hoping he didn't offend the goblin by bowing. He just thought that with the robes and the cloaks the wizards and witches wear, that the Wizarding world might be a bit traditional like that, so bowing and stuff.

Harry saw silver doors up ahead and saw engravings on them.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry thought that if that was a warning for thieves, it was pretty foreboding and that only fools would ignore the warning.

He got in line and discreetly watched the people around him. Some were in fancy, silken robes, and stood impeccably well, back straight and signet rings on fingers. Some were more laid back, some wore robes while others didn't, and talking loudly with each other, though a few of the fancy-looking ones gave them subtle stink eyes.

Harry had the impression of locals and foreigners. It reminded him slightly of uncle Vernon muttering under his breath when he'd see a person of colour, although it kind of seemed backwards in the Wizarding world in a way he couldn't explain yet.

"State your business."

Harry jumped, unaware that he was already at the front of the line. He glanced up at the bank teller, the goblin sneering at him, probably thinking of already calling security on the more-than-likely street rat.

Harry, once again, cursed the Dursleys for not giving him castoffs that fit him, at the very least.

He filched at the harsh glare of the goblin and bowed his head if only to surprise the goblin so much he loses the sneer, and answers in as steady a voice as possible, "I would like to speak to the Potter's Account Manager, please."

The goblin, who was shocked at the respectful display the child had shown, blinked at Harry's words. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, staring at his forehead and on his hidden scar.

Harry winced. Surely, he didn't have to show it as some sort of verification, did he? Though, he supposed that was easier than showing papers he did not have as proof.

The goblin, much to Harry's relief, nodded curtly and hopped off his stool. "Wait here, please," he stated before disappearing behind the doors.

Harry tried not to shift, looking down at his scruffy shoes and making himself as small as possible.

When the goblin bank teller came back, he was accompanied by another goblin, this one staring at him more harshly than the former. Harry gulped, before bowing again, just to be sure.

If possible, the goblin glared more.

"I am Alrod, the Potter account manager," the goblin sneered at him, "Who are you and what is your business with me?"

Harry tried not to flinch at the goblin's unforgiving tone. He was sure now that the warning at the entrance means to warn off swindlers too.

"My name is Harry Potter, sir."

Alrod sneered at him still, "We will have to prove this, Mister Potter, I am sure you are aware. Where is your vault key?"

At this, Harry frowns confused.

"I am sorry sir, but I don't know what you mean. I haven't any such key."

The goblin glares at him intensely. His eyes flick up to his forehead and Harry winces but reaches out anyway to pull it off. Once revealed, Alrod stares at it, as if confirming its validity.

"Then come with me, Mister Potter. There is another way to prove your identity and if you are who you say you are, then we can settle the matter of your key easily," Alrod states. He turns and walks a brisk walk towards the hall away from the tellers and Harry rushes to catch up with him.

They walk for a while before they reach huge double doors. The inside was a large room, with two couches in the very middle, facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. Alrod takes a seat on one couch and gestures for Harry to do the same on the other.

Harry sits down as another goblin enters from another door in the room, bringing with him a black piece of parchment and a silver knife. He places it at the table and stands to one side.

"This will be a simple blood test, Mister Potter," Alrod explains upon seeing Harry's confusion, "Simply prick your finger and three drops of blood on the parchment you see here and it will confirm your identity, as well as give information about your inheritance and other things."

Harry frowns, "Other things?

Alrod nods, "Yes, like lands and houses, businesses you have a share in, and marriage contracts, if any. There are also spells and curses cast on you, should there be any, as well as potions and the like."

Harry nods at this, glad he asked, though he also didn't really believe he had much of any of those. He picked up the knife and swiftly nicked his finger, letting three drops of blood fall on the parchment.

He watched as nothing happen to the piece of parchment before the blood started to swirl on the paper and then disappear within, a bright flash of light pulsing from the paper appearing. Harry watched transfixed at the wonderful sight of magic as words slowly started to appear.

After a moment, the words stopped and Alrod grabbed the parchment, reading the contents before nodding, satisfied.

"Well, it seems you are who you say you are, Lord Potter," _Lord Potter_? "I must apologize if I seemed hostile a while ago. Gringotts does not appreciate liars and swindlers. They are a waste of time—time better spent earning gold."

Harry nodded, relieved that the goblin had finally stopped glaring at him, and smiled, "It's fine, Alrod. I understand. I came by with no proof of identification other than my words and my scar, both of which can be faked by anyone at any time." Truly, he was just glad that they gave him a chance at all. He knew what he looked like and it didn't really paint a good picture when placed in a bank.

Alrod nodded in response.

"Well, then. I suppose we ought to get your vault key taken care of, Lord Potter," Alrod takes on a serious and all business tone, "This will take only a moment and will require a bit of your blood to override the old one and make a new one keyed only to you so that no one else but you will be able to use the key, even if they should have it."

The goblin from before came forward, a small glass vial in his hand. Harry took it and squeezed his finger, letting the vial fill with his blood. The goblin nodded at half full, and Harry took his bleeding finger in his mouth, the wound pulsing at being milked. The unknown goblin flashed his sharp teeth in a smirk before waving his gnarled hand over Harry's and stepping away. Harry popped his finger out, shocked to see the wound gone.

He looked back to see the retreating back of the goblin, hastily throwing a 'Thank you, sir! ' at him, shocking the goblin enough that he staggered a bit in his step.

Harry looked back at Alrod to see him smirking at him. Harry blushed at being stared at and dropped his eyes to stare at his lap.

He heard a small chuckle from above his head and blinked when a piece of rolled parchment appeared in front of him. He looked back at Alrod handing him the parchment.

"I have read only your name and your parents’, you may read the rest while we await your new key, Lord Potter."

He nodded in thanks and grabbed the parchment, unrolling it to see a few words written on it in red.

_Name: Harrison James Potter_

_Birth: July 31st, 1980_

_ Parents _ _:_

_James Fleamont Potter (Father) (Deceased)_

_Lily Joanna Potter (Mother) (Deceased)_

_Sirius Orion Black (Partial Blood Adoption)_

_ Godparent/s:  _

_Sirius Orion Black_

_Severus Tobias Snape_

_Alice Longbottom_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_ Guardian/s:  _

_Sirius Orion Black (Incarcerated)_

_Severus Tobias Snape (Unresponsive)_

_Alice Longbottom (Incapacitated)_

_Minerva McGonagall (Unresponsive)_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (Unsanctioned)_

_ Title/s and Inheritance/s:  _

_Lord of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell (Paternal)_

_Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Gryffindor (Paternal)_

_Lord of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin (Maternal)_

_Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter (Paternal)_

_Lord of the Most Ancient House of Gaunt (By conquest)_

_Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black (Blood Adoption)_

_ Vault/s: _

_ Potter _ _:_

_Potter Trust Vault_

_Potter Main Vault_

_Potter Vault 667_

_Potter Heir Vault_

_ Peverell _ _:_

_Peverell Main Vault_

_Peverell Vault 340_

_Peverell Vault 341_

_Peverell Vault 342_

_ Gryffindor _ _:_

_Gryffindor Main Vault_

_Gryffindor Vault 321_

_Gryffindor Heir Vault_

_ Black _ _:_

_Black Trust Vault_

_Black Main Vault_

_Black Vault 512_

_Black Heir Vault_

_ Slytherin _ _:_

_Slytherin Main Vault_

_Slytherin Vault 316_

_Slytherin Heir Vault_

_ Property/ies AND/OR Business Investment/s _ _:_

_Potter Manor_

_Marauder's Den_

_Potter Cottage (Fallen Construction)_

_Oaken Ranch_

_Peverell Ancestral Manor_

_Gryffindor Ancestral Manor_

_Lion's Den (Skye, Scotland)_

_Black Manor_

_Black Ancestral Manor (Bordeaux, France)_

_Black Chateau (Paris, France)_

_Number 12 Grimmauld Place (Unstable Conditions)_

_Grim House (Unfinished Construction)_

_Slytherin Castle (Cork, Ireland)_

_Fort Slytherin (Belfast, Ireland)_

_Viper's Pit (Glencoe, Scotland)_

_Gaunt Shack (Unstable Conditions)_

_1/4 Hogwarts (Gryffindor)_

_1/4 Hogwarts (Slytherin)_

_Daily Prophet 43%_

_Quality Quidditch Supplies 25%_

_Hogwarts 20%_

_Three Broomsticks 20%_

_Flourish and Blotts 16%_

_Slugs and Jiggers 12%_

_Borgin and Burke's 8%_

_ Abilities/Spells/Curses: _

_Healing Magics_

_Metamorphmagus (Due to blood adoption) (Dormant) (Activated 40%)_

_Parseltongue (Dormant) (Activated)_

_Parselmagic (Dormant)_

_Wandless Magics (Activated 30%)_

_Magic Core (Blocked 40%)_

_By Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, 1981_

_Tracking Charm (Interwoven with Block upon core)_

_By Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, yearly applied since 1987_

_Memory Charm (Obliviate)_

_By Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, 1987_

_Curse Scar on the forehead (Horcrux)_

_By Tom Marvolo Riddle, AKA Voldemort, 1981_

_ Contract/s: _

_Marriage Contract between Harrison James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley (Incomplete)_

_By Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, 1988_

Harry sat in shock as the words processed in his brain. He didn't even have time to be shocked that his name was actually Harrison or that he had godparents when the other things in the list caught him off guard. Like the fact that he was a lord, a real Lord, of multiple titles, that he was rich, that he has multiple places to call home, or that this Dumbledore person his older self had warned him about placed weird charms on him—not to mention that marriage contract with that girl he had never even met!

It was unbelievable. It was... It was _inhumane_! Not even the Dursley would mess him up so—well, actually, they would, if they could, and in a way they did but that just means Dumbledore was as bad as the Dursleys!

When would he have ever even placed these _tracking charms_ on him? It was said they were applied yearly on him, since 1987. That was when he was, what, seven? Why would that man even—

Suddenly, Harry froze as realization struck. 1987… He was seven years old… The only thing notable that happened then was… _when he ran away_. It was the first of many attempts but he never got as far as he did the first time, actually ending up in the neighbourhood next to them. He would always get caught by either patrolling policemen or a concerned, if not strange, adult that would always send him back to Four Privet Drive… even though he never told them where he lived. But he doesn’t remember ever meeting anyone that first time he ran away. He just knew he did and that wonderful feeling of adrenaline and bursting hope and then the next thing he knew, he was back in his cupboard under the stairs.

Was that what the memory charm did? Did it somehow erase his memory? Is that why he can’t even remember how he got back there or why he even ran in the first place? Harry’s thoughts went spiralling in messy and confusing lines, unable to hold on to one thought for too long before an uncomfortable, hot warmth started bubbling in his chest.

Alrod stood by and watched the emotions filter through his face, the pleased shock to numb surprise and disbelief to wonder to horrified surprise then to angry disbelief. Alrod grew concerned when the expression became angry and vengeful, blazing emerald eyes snapping up to meet his.

"Did you know about this?" The little Lord asked, childish voice gone cold and quiet in his fury. Alrod’s eyes widened at the sight, eyebrows furrowing in agitated confusion.

Alrod held out a hand for the parchment and Harry slowly handed it back, anger simmering still as he stared at Alrod with watchful eyes.

Harry saw the confusion in the goblin's face turn to shock then to understanding but was quickly overshadowed by vengeful fury, only for it to be replaced by muted horror.

"Lord Potter, this is—"

"Did," Harry cut him off, "You know?"

Alrod stared at the young wizard in front of him, righteously angry but also wound tight, distrusting, and unsure of who to turn to. The goblin shook his head.

"I assure you, Lord Potter, Gringotts knew nothing of this. We would not let such an old customer as the Potters be messed with like this, not to mention all the other names behind you."

With that, Harry nodded, tense body easing and anger dissipating, though not fully disappearing.

“How do I get rid of these charms on me?” Harry eventually asks when he was calm enough to speak, the room that had gone cold without notice returning to its original temperature.

Alrod replied, "Gringotts has services for these sorts of things, Lord Potter, as well as St. Mungos and any capable Wizarding Hospital. Of course, it will be quicker here. I would recommend having a cleansing here."

Harry nodded gratefully, the last bit of tension releasing from his body. "Is there a reason why it's faster here than in a hospital?" He asks tentatively.

"Goblin magic; it's why it's faster and pricier than normal," Alrod answers readily.

Harry, still unused to having any money, grimaced slightly, "How much is that, exactly?"

Alrod gave a sharp-toothed smirk, clearly amused at the young Lord's reaction.

"15 Galleons per block/spell, as opposed to the hospital's 8," Alrod answers, "It's also three times faster than any hospital, capable of undoing any spell or curse within the day."

“There is also the prospect of healing any illness or health risk upon your person, as you would need to be somewhat healthy to unbind your core; it would take another half day," he adds. The next part seems to come more hesitant than the rest, Harry notes. Alrod’s eyes flicker to Harry's scar as he says, "And then there is also the matter of your scar, Lord Potter."

Harry tried not to wince and play with his fringe, asking the goblin instead what was wrong with it exactly.

"It is a Horcrux, Lord Potter. The darkest of magics there is—soul magic. It is basically a container of someone else's soul."

Harry paled, "What? I-I have someo-someone else's soul? In my... in my forehead!" At this, Harry slaps a hand on his scar, loudly.

Harry's eyes danced, confused, and panicked. Tom Riddle. He knew Tom Riddle. His older counterpart told him about a poor, orphan boy that lived during the Second World War named Riddle. How he came to a world where he would be accepted and not called monster or freak, and how he was found to be lacking if only because of his name. How he wanted to change the world he lived in for the better, only for his life to spiral out of his control and forget who he was.

Harry remembered feeling sad for Riddle, knowing what it was like to not belong.

Why did Older Him tell Harry about this? Surely, he must have known who Tom Riddle was. Did he know about the Horcrux? He said something about searching for containers. Was this what he meant? But did he know the one on his forehead? Probably not, as he didn't really elaborate on what a 'container' even was.

Mind made up, he glanced back at Alrod.

"Can it be placed upon another container?" He asked.

If Alrod was surprised by the question, he did not show it. “Yes, Lord Potter. Horcruxes were made with the intention to escape death, using a method of tying down a soul fragment upon a container until it has ended its purpose or it has been destroyed. It will latch on to the mortal realm through the means of containers or hosts even, to further escape death.”

“Is that what you wish for, Lord Potter?” Alrod gazed at Harry with intensity, waiting for him to answer with surety.

Harry nodded.

Alrod stood up from his seat and guided Harry out the huge doors, "Then come this way."

They came back out into the hall and made their way to another set of double doors. Inside was a large room with only one long table and a small female goblin in white at its side.

Alrod conversed with the female goblin in a language Harry couldn't pinpoint, a language he was sure belonged to the goblin race.

Alrod turned to him, "Lord Potter, this is Healer Gurkrat. She will be the one conducting the cleansing."

"May your gold always flow," she said, giving a short bow. Harry jumped at the unfamiliar greeting and looked to Alrod for what to do. He was met with amused eyes and silence. When he glanced at the goblin healer, he saw a heavy frown and judging eyes. He blushed.

Bowing, he tried to imitate the greeting, "Um, and may yours as well?" Harry tried not to grimace at his blotched excuse for a greeting.

Gurkrat raised a brow as Alrod snorted. Gurkrat shook her head, though she lost the frown and disapproving eyes. Alrod leaned in to explain to Harry.

"That was a goblin greeting, Lord Potter. The reply would have been, _'and your coffers never empty_.'"

Harry nodded, placing the knowledge in a safe place in his brain. He'll do better next time.

"On the bed, Lord Potter. Let us get started," Healer Gurkrat ordered. Harry obeyed without question, though he had to use the step stool by the bed to reach it.

Gurkrat handed him a vial of liquid, instructing him to down it. "It will cause you to sleep through the process. This will take a while, Lord Potter."

Harry downed the potion, grimacing at the taste. _It was foul!_ He was directed to lay back and when Harry laid his head on the pillow, he forgot all about the taste as his eyes started to flutter shut.

Harry was greeted with darkness as he heard Healer Gurkrat chant in goblin language.

A day and a half later, Harry blinked up to an arched ceiling.

Vaguely, he could remember meeting a strict female goblin and Alrod smirking at him amused. He also remembered chanting, and darkness, before he remembered where he was and why he was there.

Harry jolted upright, a thin blanket falling and pooling on his lap. He raised his hands and stared at it as if he could see the spells on him gone if he stared hard enough. Harry checked himself and realized he felt lighter than he ever has. His shoulders and wrists moving more fluidly than it has before; his mind was clear-headed and he felt fresh like spring. Harry knew then, for certain, that he was free of the binding on his core. He hadn’t even realized how heavy his body felt until now.

"You are awake sooner than I expected," Gurkrat stated, making Harry jump at the suddenness of her appearance. He did not notice her come through the door, and when exactly had she arrived for her to be beside the bed already.

“Healer Gurkrat,” Harry breathed out once he was calm. He looked at the elder and strict Goblin and bowed his head, “Thank you for your help, Healer Gurkrat. I’ve never felt better in my entire life.” And it was true. Now that it was gone, Harry was able to notice that he’d lived his life in numb pain, aches all over his body from within.

The Goblin Healer frowned, “I would say so, Lord Potter, as, aside from the cleansing, we also broke and reset many of your bones that healed wrong and gave you potions for malnourishment. It wouldn’t be remiss to say you have lived your entire life with rickety bones that no doubt gave you many a pain.”

_Oh, so his aches weren’t all from within_.

Harry hid a grimace as he nodded. He thanked her again to which she waved off. She instead handed him a few potions.

“Those are nutrient and supplement potions, as well as stomach-soothing potions. Take the first two before each meal, the stomach soother after waking up. Make sure to eat only thirty minutes, no less, after taking the stomach soother or it will have the opposite affects instead, Lord Potter,” Gurkrat explained readily, “You will have to drink these potions for the next half-year, Lord Potter, before you can be considered borderline healthy. You can stop the stomach soother after a month and a half, at the least, if you never miss a meal and your potions within that time, three months at most if you do any of the aforementioned as well as get sick or injured."

"I have given you a month's worth, up until you go to Hogwarts. All chargers have been taken from your account."

Harry winced at the amount he'd paid but reminded himself that he could afford it and it was not a waste as it was for his health.

He nodded his head in understanding. Gurkrat had him changing back into his clothes before leading him to go back to the room he was in previously with Alrod. The Goblin Healer bowed to Harry.

“May your gold multiply, Lord Potter, and may your enemies cower before you.” Harry jumps at the new phrase but Healer Gurkrat has already left, leaving the young Lord in front of the lard double doors.

Harry was welcomed inside when he knocked, Alrod already sat on the couches. The goblin waved the young wizard to the opposite couch and greeted him good morning.

“Good morning, Alrod,” Harry smiled. “What time is it?”

“Fifteen minutes past six, Lord Potter. You were not expected to wake till eight, at the very least.”

In Harry’s opinion, this was already late, in terms of waking up. He was used to waking up with the rising sun, after all. It was easier to wake up on his own than to be woken up by aunt Petunia.

Harry didn’t say this to the goblin.

“There are a few things to explain, Lord Potter, about your lordships and properties. Since you were muggle-raised, I shall explain the basics, but for the finer details, your magical guardian should be the one to explain. Do you have any questions before we start?”

Nodding, Harry asked, “You said magical guardian—in my inheritance test, it stated that Dumbledore was an unsanctioned guardian. What does that mean?”

“You are aware of Albus Dumbledore’s multiple titles, yes? One of his titles is Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. They are an intergovernmental organization. They are in charge of many things, such as maintaining international peace and security. For an organization such as this, they also have an agency or department responsible for children support and aid. For orphans with no one to go to, the ICW is the one to provide and help them to find and get settled in a new home and family. You are an orphan but by no means do you have no place to go to.”

Harry likens the ICW as the Wizard version of the United Nations, though he does not know what it means to be supreme Mugwump.

“This leads to your other possible guardians. As you have seen, half were incapacitated while the other half of them did not respond to their roles as your godparents, though they did not reject it, not that they’d be able, as Magic has recognized them so. It is because of this that Dumbledore willfully appointed himself as your Magical Guardian,” Alrod sneers, displeased.

Harry frowns, “Is there no way to fix that?”

At this, Alrod nods, “Yes, as he is not considered by Magic as your guardian, dealing with this is easy enough. Not to mention, gaining your lordships will emancipate you so he is no longer needed, not that he ever was,” he states coldly, making Harry choke back a laugh. He smirks as Harry coughs.

“And what of my other guardians—my godparents, you say—what’s the deal with them?”

“Minerva McGonagall and Sirius Black are your godparents, appointed by your father, while Alice Longbottom and Severus Snape were appointed by your mother, as is Wizarding custom to appoint two sets of godparents.”

Harry is curious by this custom, though not as much as to know who these people were to his parents. He knows Minerva McGonagall to be the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, should they be the same person. Sirius Black sounded somewhat familiar to Harry, though unsure where he heard of him.

“The two that are the ones incapacitated: Alice Longbottom due to her being a permanent patient of St. Mungos, along with her husband, Frank Longbottom; Sirius Black due to being in Azkaban, the Wizarding Prison.”

Harry gasps, heart-clenching at the state of two of his godparents, though he’s never met them.

“The next two, both are professors in Hogwarts, so you will see them soon. I checked for the reason why the two did not respond to their roles as godparents and it seems that, although we sent missives to them, they returned unopened and unread. It is plausible that they never received the letters in the first place.” Alrod did not mention the fact that if they did not receive their letters, it could only mean they were being tampered with or misdirected by someone, most likely by Dumbledore.

“Which comes to another thing, Lord Potter,” Alrod added, snapping Harry out of the same train of thoughts as he. “While I was investigating this, I found that your parents’ wills have been sealed. Normally they should have been read a day before their burial.”

With a frown, Harry asks, “Let me guess: Dumbledore closed it, didn’t he?”

With his teeth bared in a sneer, he nods.

“How do we open it?” Harry then asks.

“You can have it opened, Lord Potter, as soon as you gain your lordships.”

Nodding, Harry makes up his mind. He would have gained his lordships either way, but Albus Dumbledore has gone too far. Thinking about it, Harry realized that half, if not most, of the reasons why his older counterpart’s life became so depressing lies with Dumbledore. Hopefully, with his inheritances, he would be able to escape the Headmaster’s grasp and whatever reasons he had that he would ruin a child’s life so much.

“Let’s do it, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three is up! The second step to change is to identify what needs to be fixed.


	4. Gain The Power to Unsettle The Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight hints of child endangerment, child abuse, and homophobia

**Metanoia**

**Chapter Four**

**Gain The Power to Unsettle The Balance**

* * *

Harry Potter sits and stares at intricate, ornate boxes. Six boxes are placed on the table in front of him, each with its own designs and symbols. Each box is connected to Harry through the family he has never met, as well as through one man on that fated night.

The Potter Lord ring lay inside the orange-red ornate box, copper designing the box and the Potter crest on top; a stag head on the bottom, with its antlers lining the middle part of the crest, red and copper background, with swords forming a cross on the top.

The Peverell box was a black stone with gold linings, spiraling on the edges, and the crest in the middle front; etched in the stone, a circle within a triangle, and a vertical line in the middle.

The Gryffindor box was circular and of dark redwood, with golden frames and rubies; the crest was red and gold, a standing lion in the middle and a knight‘s helmet on top.

Slytherin was a circular silver box, rune etchings, and emeralds for design, and the lid was made of a green stone, its crest proudly showing; green with a silver snake and a knight’s helmet.

The Gaunt box was the plainest of the lot; African Blackwood box with snake carvings for a frame, one sole snake had one jadeite as its eye, the others missing theirs, the crest on the middle front; two shades of green with snakes coiling with each other.

The Black Heir ring resides inside a black ornate box, silver frames and a large iolite gem on the middle of the lid, the Black Family crest in the middle of the gem; three ravens, a hand holding a wand and a skull, with the word _Toujours Pur_ on the bottom.

Alrod had already explained about each house, how he would be the Lord of multiple, influential houses and the heir of one Most Ancient and Noble House. It was said that his mother was a muggleborn but a thorough search through the Slytherin ancestry records showed that his mother had come from a squib line in the family.

By being Lord, he would be emancipated, join the Wizengamot and push forward laws and vote, or assign a proxy before then; his seats and votes in the Wizengamot being more than most as he is the Lord of multiple houses—most of them being Most Ancient and Noble houses, one being Most Ancient and Most Noble.

He would also have more power over Hogwarts than the Headmaster, as he would own 2/4 of the castle; his vote over the policies and rules would be greater than the Board of Governors’ and the Headmaster’s, and only the unanimous votes of the teaching staff, Board of Governors and the Headmaster could overrule his.

“You must simply wear the rings, Lord Potter, and the family magic within them shall see if you are fit to be Lord of the house,” Alrod explained, pushing forward the oldest house, Peverell, first.

“And if they find me… unfit?” Harry asks as he opens the box. Inside lies a black signet ring, hollow in a way that it had lines like veins or roots, spiraling to make a ring and a flat surface to hold a signet, the Peverell Crest etched on the surface.

“You will know if it rejects you.”

Which, Harry thinks, isn’t really helpful, at all. It seems foreboding at most, paired with the hoarse drawl of Alrod. Harry feels like he should expect as much from Goblins.

Placing the ring on his left thumb, the young wizard waits with bated breath as he feels the family magic wrap around him, judging him. Not a few seconds later, the magic settles, giving him a cool feeling, like a breeze or breath in cold weather, magic like a black mist, almost tangible and giving him a familiar feeling, like the one he felt during those times he would be sick and in pain and like the next breath he would take would be his last. Harry shivers at the magic and memory.

Alrod nods, “Congratulations, Lord Peverell.”

The Gryffindor ring next, a gold signet with the Gryffindor crest. Harry places it on his right index finger, feeling the magic of the ring judge him then settling quicker than the Peverell ring. It gave him a rush of magic, heated and bold, and the feeling he got whenever he got away with throwing sarcastic comments to his slow cousin behind the older Dursleys’ backs. It was a feeling that almost made him laugh, wondering why that feeling in particular.

With a nod, Alrod congratulated him again, “Congratulations, Lord Gryffindor.”

The Slytherin Lord ring was of a different design, for one, it _had_ designs; silver snakes coiling on the sides, emeralds on each side of the signet, the Slytherin Crest in the middle. Like before, it judged him as soon as it was placed on the left middle finger, taking a full minute unlike the first two. When it settled, it made Harry release a breath he didn’t know he was holding, leaving him with a sense of coolness, like freshwater, reminding him of a flowing river, and giving him a feeling of satisfaction, like a plan gone right or _better_.

Again, Alrod congratulated, “Congratulations, Lord Slytherin.”

The Potter ring, the one Harry was most excited and nervous over, his father’s ring, and his father before him. It was a copper signet but more rectangular than circular, leaf etching on the sides and the family crest on the middle. Within the band, however, were the words _Una Domus Est Scriptor_. He placed it on his right thumb. Unlike the other rings, this one accepted him immediately, giving him a sense of warmth that made tears prickle at his eyes, a feeling he was both unfamiliar and familiar with like something forgotten or lost, finally returning. It was a rush of magic and emotion, a whisper, and a feeling. ‘ _Welcome Home_ ’ it seemed to say.

“Congratulations, Lord Potter.”

Harry couldn’t tell if he imagined the softening of Alrod’s voice and he ignored how his body became blurry to Harry, instead, he took deep breaths, waiting till he couldn’t hear his heart beating in his ears. When he was calm once more, he grabbed the last Lord ring.

The Gaunt Lord ring, the one he was most apprehensive of, the one he got from _conquest_ if it could be called that. It was unlike the box it came from, simple yes but somehow elegant, a black gem in the middle, and etched on the surface was the Gaunt crest, three-headed snakes intertwined with each other. He placed it on his left pinky, the feeling of being judged once again making itself known.

The feeling it gave Harry when it settled was almost like _reluctant acceptance_ , coldness and darkness like the Peverell ring’s surging but different, cold, like aunt Petunia when she would look at Harry, and dark, like his cupboard when he’d hide from uncle Vernon, the place he was too big to be able to grab Harry from. It made Harry want to be sick and he feared he would before the magic settled, even more, the bad feelings disappearing, though not with the memories it evoked.

Harry didn’t really feel it when Alrod said, “Congratulations, Lord Gaunt,” though he was thankful when the goblin gave him a glass of cold water.

Once calm, he grabbed the last ring, the only ring for which he would not be Lord to. Harry was okay with this as he heard his godfather Sirius was Lord Black. In prison he may be, alive he was still and that was better than nothing.

The Black Heir ring was different from the rest, as it was not a signet like Lord rings usually are. It was a silver band, black adorning the inside of the band like cloth, with the words _Toujours Pur_ etched on the sides, an iolite gem in the middle. It didn’t judge him like the rest did, either, instead, it pricked him!

“Ow! What the—“

Harry jumped at the sudden pinprick, though it didn’t really hurt, it still surprised him. He looked up at Alrod when he heard a rough chuckle.

“Ah yes, I forgot about that,” Alrod smirked, “The Blacks are very proud of their blood, you see, so someone who isn’t a Black wouldn’t be able to become Heir or Lord.”

“It is because of this, most probably, why your godfather had blood adopted you.”

At this, Harry tilted his head. “Right, my papers did say that a ‘ _partial blood adoption_ ’ it said. What does that mean?”

“It is like adoption but deeper as with a blood adoption, the parent will give the child their blood, making them real relatives, a family through blood and magic. Sirius Black is, essentially, like your second father.”

Harry’s eyes widen, shocked. Ignoring Harry’s surprise, Alrod continues.

“A full blood adoption would overwrite the blood of one parent, making the adopting parent your only second parent. Had Lord Black done a full blood adoption, he would have overwritten your father’s blood, making him your only father. But a partial blood adoption lets you have Lord Black’s blood flowing through your veins, without overwriting anyone else’s. This could be used for people who are related but not through blood, or when a triad relationship wishes for their child to be the child of all three, instead of only having two biological parents when they have three parents.”

T-triad? Wait, what-what does that mean? Does that mean that instead of one mom and dad in marriage, he had one mom and two dads? Did that mean his mom was with both his dad and Sirius? Or was it his dad with both his mom and Sirius? Was that even possible? Harry didn’t know that was a thing. Surely, they didn’t go all together because his Dad and Sirius were boys and uncle Vernon said—

Alrod, seeing the young wizard’s confusion, took pity and explained, “Though Lord Black blood adopted you, it was mostly due to his not wanting to have children of his own. He was not, in any way, in a relationship with your parents, being more of a brother to your father than anything.”

_Oh_.

Harry nods, regulating his breathing once he noticed he was breathing too fast. Once able to breathe normally again, his mind catches up to the present and a question pops in his head.

“Alrod, why is Sirius in prison?” He asks.

With a grim face, Alrod answers the young wizard slowly, his words careful, “You must know first, Lord Potter, that although Lord Black is in prison, it was not a normal imprisoning.”

At this, Harry grows confused. He didn’t really know how normal imprisoning works, only that involves cops and a judge to declare you guilty, plus evidence.

“You see, there is a clause to Lordships, Lord Potter, and all Lords lose this when they otherwise die or become convicted. No Lord can continue being a Lord if they are convicted as a criminal,” Alrod explains, watching as the young Lord Potter stiffens, mind whirling in thought.

“But…” Harry starts, “But that means Sirius isn’t…”

Alrod nods, “That is right, Lord Potter, Lord Black is not convicted of his supposed crimes and, what more, upon searching, it seems he was never even given a trial.”

_Never given a trial? But then why is Sirius in prison!?_

Harry, so troubled with this news, couldn’t even begin to ask the questions he was screaming in his head. He couldn’t believe people would just throw someone in jail without even a trial. Harry wonders if that was a thing or if it was even legal.

That was when he realized…

“Alrod.”

The goblin snaps his focus to the young wizard, eyes on him, similar to how he stared at him the other day when he’d read his inheritance test. Intense, green eyes stared at him, watching him intently like he could find the exact moment a lie would leave his lips.

“Why have they thrown him in prison?”

What reason would the Wizarding Government need to ignore basic protocol like granting a Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble house a trial, immediately throwing him in jail?

Alrod was a loss at this, not knowing how to explain to a young boy of only 10 years how his godfather could be the reason why his parents died.

“Lord Potter…” Alrod began uncertainly.

“Harry. Call me Harry. Please.” Gaze still strong, the wizard cuts him off, asking him to call him by his name. Nodding, Alrod continues.

“Harry… It was believed that when your parents went into hiding, they used a Fidelius Charm, a spell to conceal, to hide a secret, the secret being the home you once had in Godric’s Hollow. This secret is contained to one person, only they know what the secret and, therefore, only they could share it. They are called Secret-Keepers—“

“Was Sirius Black the Secret-Keeper?”

Alrod pauses then shook his head, “It is unknown, though people believed it to be him, as, I’ve said before, he and your father were exceptionally close.”

Harry stares at Alrod, mind racing a million thoughts, eyes glazing over before clearing again. He relaxes and his eyes lose their intensity, nodding once.

“Then he’s innocent until proven guilty,” he declares.

Alrod is shocked at this, not at the muggle phrase but by the calm and levelheadedness of a supposed 10-year old boy. ‘ _Innocent until proven guilty,_ ’ not even those thrice his age have thought among the same lines.

“How do I get Sirius a trial, Alrod? Criminal or not, a trial should be fair and given to all. I would like Sirius to have at least that much,” Harry states, eyes flickering down to stare at the floor.

A trial means a chance to be heard, to gather evidence against or for a person’s case, a chance for the truth to come to light and lies exposed for what they are.

How many times has Harry longed and been denied something as simple as a chance? To be called a delinquent and a troublemaker, a liar and ungrateful brat, never given a chance to even prove otherwise, people believing what they hear at face value.

To Harry, he believed everyone deserved a chance at fairness, even if they were killers or traitors; they deserve some semblance of fairness, even if it was only a trial.

Alrod gazed at the boy, mature beyond his years, and wondering, not for the first time, how life could deal him such cards and yet remain so kind.

The goblin coughs, catching the young wizard’s attention. “For a Lord of a Most Ancient and Noble house to not receive a trial is unheard of, so with the right solicitor, as well as making this fact aware, a trial is not impossible,” he asserted. “I shall call upon the best solicitor for you, Harry, for a case such as this will require only as much,” Alrod stated, making light return to Harry’s eyes.

Nodding, Harry let the goblin handle it, dropping the subject for now. They then moved on to another important matter that had been sitting for just as long as Sirius had.

“About my parents’ will…” Harry began saying.

**ᛁ᛫ᚨᛗ᛫ᚨ᛫ᛚᛁᚾᛖ**

A small crystal white sphere was placed on the table, a stand keeping it in place. This would read his parents’ will to him, a mist appearing in their shape to speak in their voice as they spoke their wills when they had it first done. Harry would hear it first today before it would be read once again a week later to all the people mentioned within.

This would be the first time he would hear his parents’ voices, making Harry’s heart race loudly in his chest.

“Ready, Harry?” At the wizard in question’s nod, Alrod placed the parchment which held the will and memory of Lily Potter onto the sphere, the parchment disappearing within the sphere in a flash of light. Before long, a white mist flows from the sphere, forming into a misty miniature version of Lily on top of the sphere.

For the first time in his life, Harry is hearing his mother speak.

_“I, Lily Joanna Potter, being of sound mind and body, declare this to be my last will. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me. So mote it be._

_In the event that I die before my husband, James Fleamont Potter, I leave to him all my worldly possessions, outside of the ones I bestow upon others in further in my will. In the event that he has passed as well, I leave everything to my son, Harrison James Potter, with a few tokens to be given to those to be mentioned._

_Should both of us be dead, it means we have been betrayed. Peter Pettigrew was our Secret-Keeper and he has sold us off to You-Know-Who._

_To Remus Lupin, I bequeath you 5,000 galleons, all of my household charms books, as well as my defense books, and my blue knitted jumper that you keep stealing whenever you visit. I know how the Marauders think and no matter what they say, pursue your dream, Remus. If you want to be a professor, go for it. You’ve been carrying their arses for as long as you’ve met, no one else is as good as you at teaching and making troublemaking pests behave._

_To Sirius Orion Black, I bequeath to you 1,000 Galleons and my arithmancy books, as, I know, despite whatever image you’ve created for yourself, you’re actually just an arithmancy nerd and a dork in disguise; I know you will take care of my books and appreciate them. You are Harry’s godfather and I know you’ll want to take care of him, as is your right, but I forbid you to do this alone, Sirius Black. You will care for Harry WITH Remus or he will be placed with him instead, I don’t care what excuse he makes for himself about being ‘unsuitable’ for child care. He has taken care of all your arses and you’re the biggest babies I’ve ever met._

_To Alice Jaclyn Longbottom, I bequeath you 1,000 Galleons and all of my Sunday dresses. You’ve always said how you loved them and it would make me incredibly happy for you to have them. Should Sirius be unable to take care of Harry, please take care of my baby. From what we’ve seen, I have no fear our sons will not get along, they’re practically brothers already, with how they babble incessantly to each other._

_To Minerva McGonagall, my head of house and mentor, I bequeath to you 1,000 Galleons, and my special Chinese Tea Set, as I know you’ve always loved the feel of the ceramic cups in your hands. I should also let you know, as my husband no doubt forgot to tell you, that he has appointed you as one of Harry’s Godmother. I know how incredibly busy you are, so only in the event that the other godparents are unable to care for Harry, please take him. I know he will grow up to be a respectable and respectful child under your care, and should he ever become a troublemaker like his dad, under you, he will never get caught or toe the line between jokes and cruelty._

_To Severus Tobias Snape, my oldest and dearest friend, I bequeath you 3,000 Galleons and all of my potion journals. Don’t be too shocked, Sev, that you are mentioned here. I forgive you, Severus, I have for a long time now and I wish I had told you this many years ago. I only wish that I am not too late and that with this, I can give you some peace from our past. Do not let your past chain you, Sev. You have so much to offer to this world and you are so much more than the insults childish boys threw at you—you are so much more than what YOU threw at you. I hope you know, Severus, that you are Harry’s second Godfather. I know who you are and the choices you have made but I also know your heart and I know that whatever that Mark defines you, it does not make you. I know you will care for my Harry and before you ask, yes, James is aware of this and has approved. I love you, Severus, you were my best friend and you were the one who opened my eyes to magic first, you will always be a special existence in my heart; never forget this._

_To Harrison James Potter, my son, my baby boy, I leave to you all my earthly possessions, everything I have not given away, you will have. There are journals, sweetie, of you and your growth, and each day we spent as a family. Read them when you’re older, each month that passes, I write a letter for you to read, my son. Be kind, Harry, grow up to be a respectful and respectable wizard, and above all else, know that you are loved, with every piece of me and my heart. I love you, Harry._

_I leave my son, my darling child, to his Godparents. Should they not be able to take care of my Harry, he is to be taken instead by any of the following:_

_Amelia Bones_

_Filius Flitwick_

_Pomona Sprout_

_Any light or neutral family the Potter Account Manager, Gragnar, or his successor, has chosen._

_If none can take Harry, then he is to go to a muggle orphanage or a magical orphanage if someone finally creates one._

_Under no circumstances is my son to go to Petunia and Vernon Dursley, EVER. Petunia hates all things magic and her husband is of the same mind. They will never love Harry for who he is, unable to see past what he is._

_So I have said, so mote it be.”_

Harry didn’t know when but he had been crying for a while. Perhaps the tears formed when her face formed or when her voice called out, perhaps they fell the moment he said his name or when she called him my son. All he knew was that he couldn’t focus on the tears, in fear he would miss even a single word his mother spoke.

When it was done and his mother’s form disappeared, he grabbed a handful of tissues, a bit of embarrassment coursing through him for crying in front of the older goblin, as well as gratefulness for said goblin’s insight, placing the box of tissues on the table. He took a moment to compose himself, vowing to cry less when his father’s will be read.

Alrod, once seeing that Harry was calm enough to proceed, replaced Lily Potter’s will with James Potter’s. A similar flash of light and a mist forming into the shape of James Potter appeared.

_“I, James Fleamont Potter, being of sound mind and body, declare this to be my last will. I revoke all wills and codicils previously made by me. So mote it be._

_In the event that I die before my wife, Lily Joanna Potter, I bequeath to her all my worldly possessions and she is to be Regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, until my Heir, Harrison James Potter, becomes of age. In the event that he has passed as well, I leave everything to my son, Harrison James Potter, and he is to become Lord Potter, ONLY if Sirius Orion Black OR Remus John Lupin cannot be Regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter._

_Should both of us be dead, it means we have been betrayed. Peter Pettigrew was our Secret-Keeper and he has sold us off to You-Know-Who. Pettigrew is an illegal rat animagus._

_To Sirius Orion Black, my brother in all but blood, I bequeath to you 1,000 Galleons (not that you need it, ya’ old dog), a team of goblins to help with the construction of Grim House, to be paid in full as soon as this will is read, and all my Quidditch supplies, brooms, and Quidditch robes. Give Harry the Appleby Arrow Robes when he’s older, he has a mini one that he’s wearing right not and it’s his favorite team; so young and already a Quidditch star in the making!_

_To Remus John Lupin, the brains of the Marauders and the evilest one in the group, no matter what the professors say—you are a cruel bastard hiding behind the smile of an angel, Moony, and you know it. I bequeath to you 10,000 Galleons and Oaken Ranch; I know how much you loved the place, plus the garage was redesigned to help your night problems. Oh, and Marauder’s Den is open to all **True** Marauders; you’ll have received the key and password after the Will Reading._

_Take care of Sirius and Harry, Moony. Should Sirius not make it, I can’t ask you to take care of Prongslet, not with how hard wizardkind makes life for you, I only ask that you become a part of Harry’s life._

_To Peter Pettigrew, you have made yourself an enemy of the House of Potter; I hope it was worth it, Wormtail. You’ve betrayed your brothers, the only people who called you their friend, and for no good or justifiable reason. You didn’t need to join a side, you could ‘a left Britain and moved somewhere far from the war, you didn’t need to fight if all you were going to end up doing was selling your soul and humanity to a madman. If you’re hearing this, then you’re lucky I’m dead, or it’ll be your will that’s being read._

_To Minerva McGonagall, I bequeath 1,000 Galleons and my best Scotch, there are about 3 bottles. Please take care of Harry, Minnie, he means the world and more to me and Lils. He’ll grow up to be a fine, strong lad with you, not to mention with a strong alcohol tolerance (you can drink anyone under a table, woman!)._

_To Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, I bequeath you no monetary value but a letter. This is in response to the words you said to me, in St. Mungos, back when Harry was being born. You have the choice of whether to read it or not, though I hope you will._

_To Severus Tobias Snape, don’t be too alarmed you’re mentioned in my will. I bequeath to you 5,000 Galleons and a formal apology; I’m sorry, Severus. I know what I did, I know I was wrong. I made excuses that it was all fun and jokes but the truth was, I was a berk and bully. What happened in 5 th year was too much; I won’t even start with what happened in 6th. I can only hope that with my words, even if you never forgive me, you can find some peace from your past. Use the money to upstart your own Apothecary, Severus. You’ll become number one in the business in no time, Mr. Youngest Potions Master._

_Oh, and you’re Prongslet’s other godfather, by the way. We’d have told you in a better way, not like this, but we couldn’t reach you._

_To Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, I bequeath you 5,000 Galleons for the Order of the Phoenix and its cause, and nothing else. I’m also leaving you this: Stay away from my son, Albus. I don’t know what you’re planning but I don’t like how you look at my son; gears turning and conniving. We volunteered to fight in this war. Harrison did not and hopefully never will. He is a child and not a soldier or pawn or whatever it is you wish to use him for. Stay away from him._

_To my son, Harrison James Potter, Prongslet, little one, I bequeath to you all my worldly possessions that I have not given away, particularly a certain upgraded map and an amazing cloak that will help you in whatever adventures you will find yourself in, as well as journals your uncles and I made during our Hogwarts years. Inside the Potter Main Vault, there is a messenger bag; it has the Potter Crest on it. It’s next to some other, older bags and it’s the newest one. Use that when you go to Hogwarts, Prongslet, it’s got Expanding charms and Feather-light charm to make school life easier, plus other charms to ensure it lasts._

_I love you most of all, Harry. Live well and be happy._

_I leave my son, my Heir, to his Godparents. Should they not be able to take care of Harry, he is to be taken instead by any of the following:_

_Amelia Bones_

_Filius Flitwick_

_Pomona Sprout_

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

_Any light or neutral family the Potter Account Manager, Gragnar, or his successor, has chosen._

_If none can take Harry, then he is to go to a muggle orphanage, foster home, or a magical orphanage if someone creates one._

_Under no circumstances is my son to go to Petunia and Vernon Dursley. They have their own son. Let them ruin his life instead of my Harry’s, for surely they will treat him cruelly._

_So I have said, so mote it be.”_

It was different from his mother’s, where he cried so much from feelings of loss, longing, and love. But with his father’s it was a mixture of emotions. The loss, longing, and love were all there but mixed in with amusement, admiration, curiosity, and then some negative emotions evoked from his words, like dread, anger, and sadness.

He did not fail to notice how both of his parents had specifically stated that he wasn’t to ever go to the Dursleys and yet that was where he was. It would have even been better for him to be placed with people they didn’t consider friends or people they didn’t get along with before, like Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape, in the case of his father. Even strangers or an orphanage would be preferable to the Dursleys.

It should make him angry and yet all he felt was a numb sort of sadness. He wondered if his older counterpart knew of this and if he got angry. Did he know their father did not trust Albus Dumbledore? Is that why he told Harry to not trust Dumbledore? Did he even ever get the chance to hear their parent’s will? Their voices and how they said they loved him?

There are better times to think of these. Harry shakes his head to dispel the dark thoughts, forcibly pushing them away to deal with later.

He instead focuses on Alrod and on the fact that their Will states, without a doubt, that Sirius Black was not the traitor the Wizarding World thought he was.

Alrod seemed to be thinking the same thing for he said, “Well. It seems Lord Black will need that solicitor immediately.”

Harry nodded and asked, “How will we get this to the ministry, Alrod? I assume they need to be informed for Sirius to get his trial.” Alrod inclined his head.

“We may not need to, Harry. All names mentioned, even just in passing, will be called for the official Will Reading. One of those names is Madame Amelia Bones, the Head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement-DMLE, for short. She will, most likely, do that for us. Madame Bones is unlike her other fellow wizards in the Ministry, in which that she is fair and just.”

Harry smiled then, “Well, I guess we only need to decide on the date for the Will Reading, then.”

Alrod gave a sharp grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is here! Thank you all for the lovely people who really liked this work! And to anyone who has concerns or problems or confusion about this story, tell me and if I don't answer, that means that it will be answered further into the story.


	5. And Untangle The Strings That Bind Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans happen and Harry gets clarification on his inheritance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My head was a right mess while I was writing this chapter—it was aching and everything. I apologize if there are some mistakes in this chapter! I took a lot of breaks while I was writing, though, so don't worry!

**Metanoia**

**Chapter Five**

**And Untangle The Strings That Bind Us**

* * *

Deciding they would leave Sirius’ case to when the Will has been read, they discussed other matters—specifically, Dumbledore.

They discuss the will in particular to Dumbledore and how it was him that had the will sealed so he may have it closed again. It was a debate on whether Dumbledore knew what was written about him or not. So they made a contingency on how to get around Dumbledore possibly sealing it again.

He was to be made aware of the Will Reading on the day itself, leaving him only a few minutes to fix himself and make his way to the Will Reading Room. Though it would have been better if he were not present at all but because he was Chief Warlock, his presence was required, whether he was mentioned or not, though that was just Alrod’s opinion. Goblins apparently don’t like him.

“Should we mention me being Lord Potter?” Harry asks as he shuffles through the papers of his properties and shares. Harry did not know what house-elves are, but he seems to have a number of them from a couple of his houses: three Peverell house-elves, five Potter house-elves, seven Black house-elves, eight Slytherin and Gryffindor house-elves, and about a hundred or so Hogwarts house-elves. Should Harry be alarmed?

Alrod shakes his head, “I do not see why we should. It is better to keep such things quiet and in our favour.”

Harry hums, “So basically, what they don’t know won’t hurt us.”

Alrod gives a sharp-toothed grin, “Exactly.”

Harry could live with that. He lived by that phrase, back in the Dursleys, having to do a lot of things in secret so he didn’t get punished for it.

“We can make it seem as if Remus Lupin is the Regent of House Potter, up till Lord Black is given his trial and freed. Luckily, Lord Rings are charmed so that if a Lord wishes them to remain unseen, they shall be invisible to all but the wearer.”

“That’s possible?” Harry squeaks, eyes wide in surprise. Alrod nods, telling Harry he simply needs to wish it and it will be so. He does so and looking at the rings, though he could still see it, there seems to be a faint mist or shimmer over them, his Heir Ring the only one still visible.

“That’s amazing…” he breathes out. Upon noticing that Alrod was smirking, Harry flushes, embarrassed. He shifts in his seat, placing the papers on the table.

Alrod asks if he was done reading, to which he answers affirmatively. “Have you any questions about those, then?” The goblin then asks.

Harry nods. “About these house-elves… It seems I have a lot of these; what exactly are they?”

The goblin is unsurprised the young Lord would ask, muggle-raised as he is.

“House-elves are Magical Creatures who are bound to a Wizard House or family and serve them,” he explains.

“Serve them? Like… slaves?” Harry asks, uncertain. He breathes out in relief when Alrod shakes his head.

“While some wizards will say so, in truth the relationship between a wizard and house-elf is one of convenience,” Alrod explains, “House-elves have strong magic but need the magic of a wizard or a Wizarding house to stabilize theirs, otherwise, they’re magic will grow unstable and then deteriorate. In exchange for being bound, House-elves will serve the family, mostly by maintaining the house or properties of the family.”

“So, it’s…” Harry added, racking his brain for the word, “A symbiotic relationship, then?”

Alrod raises a brow.

Seeing this, Harry explains, “A mutually beneficial relationship.”

Alrod’s expression clears. “Ah. Precisely, Harry.”

Harry turns bashful, ducking his chin to his collarbone. He clears his throat, a pink tint on his cheeks.

“So, um,” he stammers, “It said I had about a hundred of them in Hogwarts…”

Alrod nods, “Yes, they are bound to Hogwarts itself, and, as you own 1/2 of it, they are, in a way, yours. They serve the students there, cooking for them and cleaning their rooms, though they do not answer to them as much as a house-elf that is bound to them. They will answer to you, though, as you are Lord Gryffindor-Slytherin.”

“Do I need to meet them?”

“Not if you do not wish to. You may see them when you go to Hogwarts. They reside in the kitchens, from what I’ve heard,” Alrod says.

Harry’s stomach settles, then. He was nervous about meeting them, as they were close to 200, but now that he knows he didn’t need to meet with him for now settled his nerves.

“And the other house-elves?”

“You can contact them whenever you wish; they will all wait for you. Though, some of them might need to meet you to receive their orders on what to do with the houses they are in. You simply wish to see them and they will arrive,” Alrod adds, knowing he wouldn’t know. Harry nods gratefully.

Harry then asks about the properties next. “About the houses, I saw that some of them were in unsuitable or unstable conditions. Are there any that I can live in? I’m homeless at the moment, you see,” he explains sheepishly.

Alrod raises a brow but does not comment, instead, choosing a few papers from the stack Harry was reviewing before.

Alrod places nine stacks of papers in front of him, side by side, while the remaining was pushed away from the group.

“There are nine properties you can live in, Harry, that are within the UK. There two outside of the UK and the rest are unsuitable for living in. Oaken Ranch is to be given to Remus Lupin.”

“You can go to each property through the Portkey in your rings. Simply touch the ring of the House you wish to go and state what property you will go to.” Alrod then adds, “A Portkey is an enchanted object that upon touch will bring you to a set destination instantly, no matter how far. It is either time or password activated.”

Harry grabs the stack of papers and places them within his backpack. He is reminded of the shoulder bag his father left for him. Before he leaves the bank, he’ll grab the bag and some monies. He’ll check the properties later, and, by default, the house-elves.

Seeing Harry packing up, Alrod stands. “Shall we go to the vaults, Harry?”

At Harry’s nod, the pair makes it out of the room and the grand marble of the main hall becomes stone, the light dimming. Harry is reminded of caves; slightly damp stone and torch-lit light. Harry wonders how they’ll get to the vaults, as there are no stairs or even escalators (Harry also wonders if wizards _have_ escalators).

It turns out, they don’t need stairs; they have carts that go down rails in rollercoaster fashion. The fast twists and turns had Harry gripping tightly to his seat, heart beating almost as fast as the cart itself, and a grin threatening to split his face in half. The sharp turns they take made giggles escape his lips.

Alrod grins at him from where he is seated beside him. Harry was distracted by one of a flash of fire and tries to swivel his head to see it, but the cart goes too fast. Harry wants to think it was a dragon he caught a short glimpse of but dismisses the thought.

They soon reach the Potter Main Vault. Harry stumbles out the cart in shaking legs and a wide grin.

“That was brilliant!” He exclaims, making both Alrod and Griphook, who manned the cart, give shark-like grins in amusement.

Alrod guides him towards the vault and, once the vault doors were open, Harry’s weak legs went weaker at the sight. Mountains of coins, gold, silver, and bronze; shelves of books, letters, chests, and jewellery; paintings of what Harry assumed were to be ancestors; various artefacts were placed here and there on top of, what seemed to Harry, priceless antique furniture. Harry saw that there were even statues of varying sizes!

Harry deduced that he was rich, being the Lord of various Houses, and having multiple vaults, properties, and investments. Harry just did not know until now that he was ‘ _filthy, stinking rich’_ , in the words of Dudley’s American shows.

Alrod gave him a rundown of the monetary values: 29 knuts to a sickle, 17 sickles to a galleon. 1 galleon was £4.93. Harry short-circuited at this and struggled to do the math in his head. Alrod dropped a bigger bomb on him he announced Harry had 1.8B galleons in the Potter Main Vault alone, not to mention the other older _and_ richer families he was now Lord over. Harry did the smart thing to do in situations where one was overwhelmed.

He stopped thinking about it.

Harry made his way to an antique long table that held rucksacks and messenger bags. Harry went to the newest looking one, a leather messenger bag, with an orange-red front pouch that had the Potter crest on it, with copper rings, rivets, and buckles. Inside there were pouches that he could fill with stationary, and in the middle, he saw notebooks—possibly the journals his father mentioned—a folded piece of parchment, and an envelope. He took out the envelope and saw his name scrawled on the front in blue ink. The Boy Who Lived traced the letters of his name individually, imagining his father hunched over a desk as he wrote down his letter, tongue slightly poking out like Harry does when he concentrates.

Harry placed the envelope back inside the bag, resolving to read it later so he could take his time with it.

When Harry checked some of them, they seemed to be filled with some odds and ends, letters, parchments, quills, empty inkpots, and some books. Harry saw some he thought he’d be able to use: _A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot, _Magic, Cores, and Intricacies: Light, Dark and Neutral_ by Marion Fiddlewood, _Bestiarium Magicum_ by Bruce Bramble, _Ingredient Encyclopedia_ by Ivy Tucker, _Chadwick’s Charms Volume III_ by Chadwick Boot, _The Basics of Potions and Handling_ by Eunice Atkins, and _Protection Charm Your Mind:_ _Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency_ by Franciscus Fieldwake. Harry is part of this world now—was always supposed to be part of it—and he’d best learn all he could about it. The last book Harry didn’t really understand but taking it anyway because it had the word ‘protection’ on it.

Harry then grabbed a few galleons and sickles, placing them inside the front pouch of his bag. He glanced around the vault for anything else he could bring but the vault was too big; Harry resolved to get a list of all his possessions from Alrod later. Instead, he asked Alrod where he could find the journals his mother left for him. Alrod walked off and came back holding three notebooks, tied together, with a letter on the top. Harry thumbed his name written in red, the calligraphy of his mother as striking and beautiful, and Harry could only hope he could have handwriting as pretty as his mom's. Like his father's letter, he placed it away in his bag to read later.

Harry glanced at Alrod and the goblin nodded, escorting him out. They rode through one more (fun) cart ride and then made their way back to Alrod’s office.

They took a short break to have lunch, a tray appearing on the coffee table. It held two plates of sandwiches, two bowls of soup, and two salads on the side. Alrod had some other… _things_ on his that Harry politely did not look at it, lest he makes a face and offends the goblin who had helped him so much. Harry took his potions and promptly gagged, making Alrod laugh. Harry blushed and pouted, sulkily tucking in and ignoring Alrod's amused face. Once they were done, they went back to some of the things on Harry’s Inheritance Test and clarified the things there.

“It says here that I own ½ of Hogwarts, but it also says I have 20%. What does that mean?” Harry asks after reading through his test again.

Alrod explained, “You own half of Hogwarts, yes. But that is in terms of property and land. The 20% you get is the monies all Hogwarts Lords get. 10% for each Lord or Lady, the other monies that go to Hogwarts will be for the staff and the upkeeping of the school and castle.”

Harry blinked. “Oh. And the money comes from tuitions, right?”

“And donations,” Alrod added with a nod. Harry dipped his head as he glanced through his test once more.

Without taking his eyes off the parchment, he asks, “And the other percentages are, like, my share of these businesses?”

“They are. Your shares in investments, which your ancestors invested in by either helping these businesses start, funding or kickstarting them,” Alrod explains.

Harry nods and they then discuss the abilities portion of the test. Since Harry was new to magic in terms of knowledge, Alrod explains for him.

“In regard to abilities, Lord Potter, most wizards that come from Ancient families have them. When a wizarding family goes to live for a long but undetermined time, as well as keep to their family traditions or customs, they begin to develop abilities or certain characteristics that pertain to that family. When this happens, they are then called an Ancient House.

“The Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy has the characteristics of white-blond hair and a certain proficiency in Law and Wards. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Prince have the proficiency of Potion Making and the Mind Arts. The Ancient House of McGonagall has proficiency in Transfiguration. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black has the proficiency in Human Transfiguration which then evolved to them having Metamorpmagi. The Ancient and Noble House of Potter has the characteristics of having hair that practically has minds of their own and proficiency in Potion Making and/or Defensive Magic.”

Harry eagerly takes it all in, knowing that Alrod specifically chose those families that were, in some way, connected to him.

“The Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Peverell, the oldest house of them all, from which the Potters have the most history with—since the 13th century at least—have a proficiency in Death Magic, Shadow Magic, Obscure Magics, and/or Healing Magic,” Alrod adds lastly.

Harry pales. “Death magic?”

“It is nothing too nefarious, Harry. At least, not with the Peverells. They respected Death a great lot so Magic had blessed them with the proficiency of Death Magic, for she knew they would never abuse it.” Alrod pauses and then adds, “Although Britain has certainly outlawed it.”

Harry cocks his head, “So it’s not a bad thing?”

Alrod makes a humming noise. “Not necessarily but many have tried to use it for more dastardly deeds; enough so that Ministry had it all outlawed, instead of just certain aspects of it.”

Harry thought about it deeply. He supposes it makes sense, in some way. Death Magic not being necessarily evil but was still useable for evil. It was like a kitchen knife, a tool one uses for cooking, to create sustenance that’s needed for the body, but was sharp enough that carelessness could hurt the wielder or others, and if one stabs a person with a knife hard enough, could kill them.

Harry informs Alrod of this, “So it’s not that it’s evil. It’s just a branch of magic that can be used, and whether it’s hurtful or not depends on the one casting it.”

Alrod raises an impressed brow. “Exactly, Harry. As is the case with most Magic, light, neutral or dark. Though there are exceptions, of course.”

Huh. So magic was like a pen or pencil then, Harry thought. Pens have the power to create beautiful sonnets, wonderful songs, and amazing pictures. It had the power to stop wars and share love. It, also, had the ability to start wars and spread hate. It was, as the kitchen knife, sharp enough that if you stab someone hard enough, they could die.

“So, I got Healing Magics from the Peverell line? What does that mean, exactly?” Harry asks after a moment. Did it perhaps mean super regeneration like in those comics Dudley likes to read so much? Harry always has been a fast healer, though he doubted he’d be able to regrow limbs.

Before Harry’s thoughts could spiral deeper, Alrod answers. “It merely means you have a proficiency in it, Harry. When or if you learn any healing spells, charms, or runes, you will take to it easier and more natural than someone who does not have it as their Family Magics. That is not to say that you are a prodigy, or that you already have the ability or knowledge to use Healing Magics, or that only people with Family Magics can excel in certain areas of magic.”

“It is unlike the Metamorphmagus ability found within the Black Family, where it is an inborn ability that allows the change of an individual’s body without the need for spells, enchantments, or rituals,” Alrod explains patiently.

“You have 40% activated Metamorphmagus ability which is in thanks to the blood adoption Lord Black did with you, and it is not 100% because the blood within you was not strong enough. Perhaps, if you have an offspring with someone from the Black family line, that child may have the full ability,” Harry blushes at this, “As it is since you only have less than half of it, your body is more accepting towards human transfiguration and there have possibly been times where you had an accidental magic that involves the changing of your physical appearance.” Alrod ended the sentence with a subtle inquiring tone, raising a single brow in Harry’s direction.

Harry frowned and stared at the floor, cracking his head to try and remember if there was ever an instance where his physical appearance made a drastic change when his eyes widened and glanced up at the Potter Manager.

“From the looks of it, I was right?” Alrod inquired.

Harry nodded slowly. “Yes. It was when I was 8, aunt Petunia cut my hair real short, practically to my scalp, and left only my fringe aside to hide my scar,” Harry’s hand unconsciously went up to touch his now-faded scar. “I remember being so embarrassed and upset, I went to sleep wishing that… my hair would be back to its regular length again. It did the next day. Aunt Petunia was really mad about it but I was too relieved that I didn’t even mind being locked back in the cupboard for the next three days. Since my hair always did that, I just… forced myself to believe my hair grew _really_ fast, I guess. I didn’t want to believe that the Dursleys were right when they called it _freakish_.”

Alrod inclined his head, forcing his expression to be one of mussing and neutrality, instead of reflecting the anger he felt stewing inside. He does not alert the young Potter Lord as the goblin is sure Harry was not aware of what he said. He took a quiet and deep breath before forcing himself back into the discussion.

“Yes, that would be the Black Family Magic acting up within you. Since it is less than half, you will not be able to easily control it— _if_ you can control it. There is also a chance for the percentage to rise if you were to dabble in self-human transfiguration but that poses many risks to the body and I would advise you to refrain from dabbling too much and definitely not before you’ve started to learn about it in Hogwarts, at the very least, Lord Potter.”

Alrod raises his brows and stares down at the young wizard, making Harry struggle not to fidget. From the use of his title, Harry takes this as a formal request so Harry nods and promises not to overestimate himself in things he did not yet understand.

The Potter account manager nodded, pleased. This made Harry flush and duck his head in embarrassment. Alrod snickered but said nothing on the matter.

“Do you have any other questions, Harry?” Alrod asked. Harry shook off his embarrassment and read his test once more.

“What is parselmagic?”

“This, I believe, is only applicable to those that can speak parseltongue and, of course, have magic. Unfortunately, I do not know how one goes about doing parselmagic, however, fortunately, there should be some books and journals about it in the Slytherin Vault. Would it be something you wish to have taken out of the vaults? I am the Potter Account Manager but I am not the Slytherin Account Manager so I will have to confer with her, anyhow, sooner or later,” Alrod says. This made Harry blink.

“Wait, does this mean there are different account managers for each of my family vaults?” Harry asks, incredulously. And wasn’t that a weird thing? Just a while ago, Harry had believed he had nothing to his name and now he’s the Lord of several Houses and the Heir to one. He had multiple vaults filled with millions of gold coins and priceless artefacts—each!

Harry is surprised his head is still working.

Surprisingly, Alrod answers, “No.”

“The Gryffindor and Slytherin accounts are handled by the same Account Manager, who also handles the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff accounts, as well as the vaults for Hogwarts that the Founders had made unenterable to anyone, be it the Heirs, Lords, Ladies or Headmaster. It is, however, accessible to the Headmaster, although under heavy watch from the Account Manager, to avoid theft. The Ministry has the ability to investigate the vaults but only with a signed warrant from _both_ the Minister and Headmaster.”

“Oh,” Harry’s eye widen at the knowledge, “Is that why they’re not listed down in my Inheritance test?”

Alrod nods in response.

“Yes, and regarding our other Houses; I’m sure you’ve noticed that the Gaunts do not have vaults written in your test?” Alrod waits for Harry’s nod before he continues. “That is because the Gaunts went bankrupt ages ago and after two decades of no incoming monies, Gringotts closed it, as is the policy of Gringotts.”

“The Black Accounts do have an Account Manager, his name is Bloodsmear. As for the Peverell Account. It has been dormant for centuries and so has not required an Account Manager until now. Should I recommend someone for you, Lord Potter?”

Harry thinks this through but then hesitantly asks Alrod, “Would it not be possible for you to take them, Alrod?” Which makes Alrod pause and blink in mild surprise, though he feels as though he shouldn’t be with Harry Potter. Instead, he nods his head, gratefully.

“I would be honoured, Lord Potter.”

Harry smiles at the goblin, relieved.

“Well, then,” Alrod coughs, “About those journals in the Slytherin vaults…”

Harry nods. “I’d like to see them but preferably later—maybe after I found a house to live in,” Harry answers with a wry grin. Alrod snorts at this but acquiesces, not denying it would be better for the young Lord to have a place of his own first, where he can comfortably read.

“About that, what are your plans after this, Harry?” The goblin asks.

“Well,” Harry began, “I’m planning on checking out the properties you gave me that are habitable, as well as meeting the house-elves from each house. I’ll probably assign them some cleaning or maintaining work, nothing too big. Then, I suppose I could check to see what I’ll need after I found which house I’ll stay in—necessities, furniture, and possibly clothes, food. Then, when I’m settled, I’ll buy for my Hogwarts things.”

Alrod nodded along to Harry’s plan. “Yes, checking the house for what you’ll need is a must. They have been unlived for quite some time, after all. Although you could ask the house-elves to buy the food for you, so you wouldn’t have to. I would also recommend you buy clothes. I’m sure you’ll need a whole wardrobe. Should I write down a list of shops?”

Harry smiles, “I would appreciate it. Thank you, Alrod.” The goblin waves off his thanks, grabbing a parchment and writing for a few moments. Harry waits until he’s done, folding the list and placing it in his bag when it’s handed to him.

“I expect you on the 28th, Lord Potter, for the Will Reading,” Alrod makes to stand, Harry, doing the same. He bows and Harry follows suit.

“I’ll see you then, Alrod,” Harry smiles but then pauses, an uncertain look on his face.

“Before I leave,” Harry licks his lip, “I have just one more question.”

“How does a portkey work, exactly?”

**A/N: Alright! Alright! You guys can stop asking for the next chapter cause IT'S HERE!!**

**You guys have been throwing me such positive vibes and comments since I posted chapter 4 that I really sped through chapter 5. I AM S P E E D, PEOPLE.**

**With that said, I and the fam are taking a mini-vacation tomorrow so I'll be taking a break from writing for, possibly, a week, more or less. ~~Though that may change depending on the comments~~ ((; =ﾟ３ﾟ=))～♪**

**ANYHOE! I HOPE YA'LL ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER (or not, since not a lot of things happened here, anyway...( ;ↀ_ↀ) )**

**And don't hesitate to tell me if you see some mistakes in my writing! And regarding some of the concerns, someone in the comments pointed out...**

**Goblins do _not_ have super Goblin powers. As creatures, they are more intuned to Magic or Wild Magic, hence why they don't necessarily need wands. Not only that, but Goblins are collectors. They know many Obscure Magics, like removing a Horcrux. This is not Goblin Magic but runes, rituals, and enchanting/disenchanting that a group of human Senior Cursebreakers are also capable of doing. This wasn't shown since Harry was in a deep sleep but Healer Gurkrat only healed him. The ones that rid him of the Horcrux were a group of Goblin Cursebreakers. Hope I clarified that.**

**I don't believe that Goblins have these almighty powers, just like I don't believe that there was no other option other than death for Harry. I view this as a more complex version of removing a ghost or demon that's possessing a person.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Things are getting interesting and more characters are introduced! Is this possibly the road to a family and happiness for our dear Savior?


	6. Change One's Scenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just wasn't working with me. I had to rewrite this three times and even now, I still feel slightly unsatisfied. Oh, well. I can't keep you all waiting! Here's chapter 6! The will reading is in the next chapter!

**Metanoia**

**Chapter Six**

**Change One's Scenery**

* * *

The trip to all of his properties took almost all day.

Amidst the large manors, mansions and castle, Harry also had to categorize which one needed more attention than the others, which ones he could imagine living in, and the things he might need should move in.

That didn't even include the number of eager house-elves he had to meet with.

Starting with the Potter elves, Potter Mannor had three relatively young triplet house-elves. They were by far the most eager and energetic, being only a decade older than Harry—which was apparently young in elf years.

There was Ceely, the female house-elf and the leader of the group. Ceely had red hair in pigtails, brown eyes and wore a light orange uniform with the Potter crest stitched on the breast. She handled the lands and maintenance. Caddey, her brother, was also red-haired, with blue eyes, and handled storage and kept the bedrooms. Cepky, the remaining house-elf, had darker red hair than his siblings and had green eyes. He was the designated cook of the group and was most keen to feed young master Harry the grandest of feasts.

Harry, doubting his stomach could handle it, even after the healing the goblins did on him, refused immediately. He did, however, agree to a light lunch, after the end of the tour. 

Marauders' Den was fun. It was significantly smaller than the rest of his properties but just as big in regards to land and just as jaw-dropping. It was a group of treehouses, way up on the trees and deep within the forest. They were connected by bridges and were painted colourfully. There was a house for each marauder (his dad had a viewing tower on his that Harry absolutely loved) and it was well-maintained by the house-elf Mimsy. 

Mimsy was notably calmer than the triplets. She had short-cropped black hair, pulled back by a clip, and wore a violet uniform with flower embroidery at the bottom, and at the back was what Harry assumed to be the Marauders' crest.

When Harry asked her not to call him a young master, she immediately nodded and replied to him.

"Master Harry, then."

Harry had no words to rebut her.

Oaken ranch, Harry only visited to check. It was a single-story house with a basement, a lot that went for miles and a forest near it, and an empty horse stable. It was well-kept by a Potter house-elf named Zeppy.

Zeppy was a kind house-elf, though he was old. One of the oldest Potter house-elves, he had served the Potter house for many decades and had asked Harry if it would be alright f he could rest now. Zeppy had looked so weathered and tired, that Harry couldn't bear to say no—not that he'd ever deny someone rest. The old house-elf had looked so content at that moment that it brought Harry to tears, grabbing onto Zeppy's wizened hands as he started to glow. Zeppy grabbed just as tight to his youngest master, his kind young master who was tearing up at the sight of him leaving. Truly, Zeppy lived a well and fulfilled life, being a Potter house-elf.

_"Zeppy be going now, kind young master Harry."_

Harry watched as the old house-elf faded up to the heavens in glowing lights, like fireflies floating into the sky. It made a glorious sight with the setting sun.

The young Lord wished he had had the chance to get to know the wizened elf before he had to go but Harry saw and felt through the bond between him and all his house-elves, that Zeppy was truly happy and content with his life, and was ready to go to the next and last big adventure.

The next few stops Harry decided against doing a tour. It turned out to be the right choice.

Since the next few stops were actual castles, the number of rooms and floors were ridiculous, the lands it sat on were already vast enough that it would take half a day to walk through the entirety of it, much less having to walk through 6 other caste grounds. Harry decided to just pop by and ask the elves stationed there to make a list of repairs or needs for the properties.

He was met with excited house-elves; the boisterous Gryffindor House-elves, the excited yet visibly-restaining-themselves-from-bursting Slytherin House-elves, the quiet Peverell House-elves, and some of the eager Black House-elves. Harry didn't go outside the country for the Black Properties so he decided against calling the remaining house-elves. He did, however, call on the one living in Grimmauld place.

Harry wouldn't really say that the Black house-elf Kreacher was all that eager when Harry had called on him. That was a different experience Harry wouldn't forget anytime soon, even if they managed to find solid ground with Kreacher.

_"Nasty, undeserving, halfblood master calls upon poor, old Kreacher, taking him out of Mistress' home, he did," was the words that met Harry when he called upon Kreacher._

_Harry blinked owlishly._

_"I'm sorry?"_

_Kreacher sneers, showing yellow teeth. He mumbles under his breath, words that made Harry flinch and shrink, reminding him of his aunt Petunia's cold, high voice when she would complain about him._

_"What does nasty, halfblood master want with Kreacher?" He sneers, hands fisting his old, and ratty pillowcase dress._

_"I—"_

_"Kreacher not be saying such things to young master Harry!"_

_Whatever Harry was going to say was drowned out by the voice of a shrieking female house-elf. Harry and Kreacher turn to look at Nettie, who had her hands on her hips, with knitting sticks strapped at the hip of her wool towel clothes, an angry look on her face echoed by the other two house-elves Canis and Mopsy._

_Kreacher gapes at the sight of the other Black house-elves._

_Canis scowls. "Bad Kreacher! You are knowing better, not saying such words in front of the young master! Definitely not being about or to him!" Canis scolds him, making Kreacher scowl himself. Mopsy growls at this._

_"Kreacher," Mopsy steps forward, waving a rolling pin she was most definitely was not holding before. "Kreacher not be taking this attitude. Mopsy not allowing Mopsy's sister's son humiliate Black name!"_

_Kreacher flinches._ _"Kreacher is not!"_

_"Kreacher is!" Mopsy, who was apparently Kreacher's aunt, screeches. Harry rushes forward before she could swing the rolling pin on the poor elf. Mopsy barely notices._

_"Kreacher being a bad elf, calling nice young master bad names, he is! He is showing bad faces to young master! Young Master is Black Heir! Yet Kreacher being bad-elf to young Black Heir. Kreacher not being deserving to be called Black House-elf!"_

_Kreacher gasped, hands moving toward his breast like he had been physically attacked. Harry swivelled his head back and forth, torn between being amused at how fierce the house-elves of Black Manor were, and pity for the pale pallor Kreacher's skin turned into._

_"Kreacher is not a bad elf! Kreacher lives only for House of Black!"_

_"Then act like it!" All three house-elves scream._

Needless to say, Kreacher cut back on his cutting remarks, apologizing to Harry and listening to his orders quietly. He was asked to clean and maintain the house, to make it befitting of the Black name. Harry remembered that Grimmauld Place was in unstable conditions so he'd ask Alrod or the Black Account Manager for a list of names or services that could help. Kreacher objected—mildly due to the glares of the others—at first but Harry said he wanted the manor to be back to its glorious splendour and that would only be possible if an expert would see to the house. Hearing this, Kreacher reluctantly acquiesced.

All the tours, inspections, meeting with house-elves, and figuring out what orders to give them, took more or less five hours and before long, it was already way into the evening. Harry had to choose which house he'd stay in. He chose to say at Marauder's Den for the night, figuring Mimsy's calm demeanour would help him wind down for the day. After all the excitement, Harry would appreciate the calm Mimsy would offer.

A light supper over with, along with another round of potions, and Harry found himself in the shrunken nightclothes of his father. It smelled of pine, kiwi, and a faint scent that Harry swears he caught a whiff of in the broom closet.

If Harry gave himself a big hug in his father's clothes, well... No one but a quiet house-elf saw.

Harry quickly got on the bed afterwards, Mimsy tucking him in and kissing him on the forehead before leaving him be. Harry closed his eyes to the sensation of being cared for, imagining what it would feel like if his parents were still around. He shook the thought away immediately after. Even if they weren't here, they loved him, and that was the important part of it all. He was not an unloved, unwanted, freak. He was Harrison James Potter and he was loved, wanted, and cared for, even if his parents weren't here anymore.

Somewhere beyond the veil, James and Lily smiled on.

It was where Harry found himself now, tucked into his dad's bed of red and orange, thinking of all the things that happened this day. 

Older Harry never spoke of mansions like Potter Manor and Black Manor, he never spoke of being a Lord and being overly rich, nor did he speak about houses in trees, and various house-elves. Harry thinks that his older counterpart never got to experience what he is now experiencing. He feels bad for his older self, to have never gotten this connection, this inheritance from his father.

Harry supposes that he will just have to live it for him. It was the best that he could do.

**ᛁ᛫ᚨᛗ᛫ᚨ᛫ᛚᛁᚾᛖ**

Harry woke up like he had been every day for the past 5-6 years, bright and early.

For what seemed like the second time in his life, he did not wake up to his aunt's screeching or his cousin's deliberate stomping on the top of the stairs. Instead, he woke up to the gentle rays of sunlight on a warm, soft, clean bed, and a thick blanket that swallowed his skinny form completely. Downstairs, he could hear the sizzling of cooking oil and the soft clanking of pots and pans. After drinking one of his prescribed potions, Harry padded down to see Mimsy cooking.

"G'morning, Mimsy," Harry greeted through a yawn, rubbing his eyes.

Mimsy jumped.

"Master Harry is up!" She squeaked, making the half-asleep Harry jump. She states, "Mimsy did not expect master Harry for another hour." Mimsy was a Marauder elf, but she was also the daughter of Master Prongs' Nanny elf. She was used to the Marauders waking up sometime before noon so seeing someone awake at the break of dawn surprised her greatly. There was also the fact she's been alone for more than ten years now.

Harry smiles shyly, "I'm sorry for scaring you; I'm just used to waking early, is all." It's ingrained, really, at this point.

Mimsy nods, accepting the answer. "Master's breakfast will not be ready for a while. Can master be waiting?" Harry smiles and nods.

"I'll set the table, then," he announces, Mimsy's eyes widen but before she could refuse, Harry was already rushing behind her and grabbing the plates. Mimsy let out a distressed sound and snapped her fingers, making the plates in the young Lord's hands float away and to the table. Harry jumped and gasped, panicking that he had dropped the plates only to see them floating to the table. 

"Master Harry is not setting the table. That be Mimsy's job," Mimsy says firmly, hands on her hips and a pout on her lips. Harry stares at her uncertainly, fiddling with his fingers. 

"Well," he wets his lips, "What should I do?" Harry was not used to staying still, he was also not used to not doing chores early in the morning to late afternoon. Since he was 6, Harry had been constantly moving.

Mimsy cocked her head. The marauders had no problem busying themselves as they waited for food, she even often had to chase them away from the kitchen as they made a mess trying to 'help move things along'. She supposes the young master, new as he was to the place, was still unsure of how to use Marauder's Den and all it had, the way her Marauder masters intended it for. 

Decided, Mimsy pointed her wooden spatula at the area where the bathroom was. In a gentle but firm voice (Mimsy decided that the young master did not need her 'you listen now or so help me' voice, unlike her previous boys), she told the young lord, "Master be taking a bath. He be relaxing while he waits. Mimsy will be finished by then."

With a nod, Mimsy dismisses him and Harry dumbly walks to the bathroom. Once inside, Harry's jaw drops.

It was bigger than the Dursley's master bedroom. It had cream walls, white tiles, cherry wood cupboards, a separate shower, and stairs leading to a bathtub that could only be described as a small pool. It had windows that Harry refuses to believe isn't anything _but_ magic. It showed, not the forest view from outside, but a glorious beach ocean view, the water a wonderful cerulean blue upon white sand. 

Harry was excited to take his first-ever dip on a tub and to be able to stay for longer than 10 minutes. He was even more excited when he discovered it had a bubble bath function on one of the taps.

Half an hour later, Harry was as dry as a prune and cleaner than he's ever been. He had never felt so relaxed. Harry thought to himself that he might just get addicted to baths, ridiculous the notion might be. Well, it wasn't as if anyone would know—and no Dursleys to make deprive him of so.

Wearing a new set of shrunken clothes, this time from Moony's closet, provided to him by Mimsy, Harry came back out to see the quiet house-elf placing breakfast on the table. Mimsy nodded at him, using her magic to move the chair back for Harry. He smiled at her in thanks.

Once seated, he turned to Mimsy. "Will you eat with me, Mimsy?" He asked. Mimsy starts at the question and gives him a long look before nodding her head and sitting at the table. Beaming at her, Harry turned to study his food. Pancakes, omelettes, sausages, yoghurt, muffins, and a bowl of assorted fruits. Harry took a bit of each while Mimsy took to the sweet side; pancakes dripped in honey, yoghurt, muffins, and fruits. Harry dutifully drank his potions before he dug in. As he ate, the young lord decided to pack some muffins with him on his shopping trip. 

The notion that Harry would go shopping, using his own money, for no one but himself, and that no one ordered him to, had the young wizard feeling giddy.

Soon enough, the pair finished their breakfast and Harry was setting up to go. Harry decided to take his messenger bag since it had an expanding charm, which would surely help in his shopping. He'd go visit the bank after, or if he ran out of money, perhaps give Alrod a gift, for all his help—maybe even one for Healer Gurkrat. He'd have to talk about Grimmauld and Grim House, too.

All set, Harry set out to go on his first-ever shopping trip. With Mimsy bidding him a safe trip, he went out the door with a big grin on his face.

Only to come back right in when he realized he didn't know how to get there.

Harry blushed when Mimsy gave a startled laugh.

**A/N**

**Can ya'll believe it took this long to update just because I got stuck in a funk? Honestly, this chapter was just NOT doing it for me. I apologize profusely, my ducklings of fanfiction and all things gay. Hopefully, I can finish chapter 7 soon but midterms are here and I have five assessments that are due this week (two re due tomorrow and I haven't even started). DON'T BE LIKE ME, KIDS!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also... I'm a bit conflicted. Where do you think Harry should live? All the houses besides Marauders' Den and Oaken Ranch are hardly fit to house a single person, let alone a child. Where do you think he should live?
> 
> Marauders' Den  
> Oaken Ranch (to be shared with Remus)  
> Potter Manor  
> Grim House (After it's finished)


End file.
